#Joel's just doing his best

[blackberrydeer]

21 days to find you

Chapter 3/?

The whole ordeal had already flew out of his mind when Joel reached the guard to get his payment. Not a lot, easy work like that never rewarded you any pretty amount of anything other than tired muscles, but two cards were enough for two days, so he could at least pretend he did something useful.

With the rain pounding the way it was, he would have to take the Fedra route, and that meant crossing the whole military school. In normal days Joel would try to avoid the damn place like the plage itself.

But his back hurt like hell, and frankly, chances are, with the way his ankle was aching, he would most likely trip and drown in the shallow street river made by the rain, and right now he doubted he would have enough force or will to get up and walk to his shitty home.

And anyway, it was almost dawn, no kid would be running off the walls to go out. Not anymore, in the middle of the apocalypse, and not with the way the rain had been trying to mimick goddamn hail.

Unfortunately the two decades Joel passed avoiding kids had made him kind of blind to how much a mini-human would go to do something they’d want to, because despite the night, the guards, the curfew, the cold and the rain, Joel did find a kid. I’m fact, he’d been so paranoid about avoiding any kid sneaking out of their rooms that he didn’t even notice the one running right at his direction until said kid crashed straight into him, sending them both to their asses.

Or more accurately, sending him to the floor, back first (and fuck does that hurts, he’s not as young as he once was), the girl (because of course, after avoiding kids for so long, the first time he’d find one would be a little girl) sprawled over his chest, cradling her forehead with a mad scowl.

That is, until she eventually noticed him, and fuck, that was the girl working at the site. She’d been paranoid enough to bolt off the job without even picking up her ration, and he all but confirmed her (inaccurate) suspicions. Now she would think he was actively stalking her, and Joel couldn’t even form an argument that would convince her otherwise.

But despite the worried need to reassure her he offered no danger, the 19 years of surviving and smuggling kicked in first, and before she could think of screaming he held her head in one arm, hand pressed tight against her mouth, careful to not block her nose, the other around her middle in a sick joke of a hug.

The reaction was immediate, the girl starting to thrash and fight and try to bite against his hold. A brief memory of him trying to keep a wild raccoon off his baby brother flashed in his mind, but he brushed it off quickly. That girl looked like more of a wild raccoon than the raccoon itself.

“Calm down, calm do- shit-“ she managed to scratch at his face, barely missing his eyes “ Ow, I’m gonna let you g- ouch, brat, calm down” another pseudo punch, a pressure in his finger that could only be her trying to bite his hand. She twisted her torso, effectively moving so they were face to face, her trying to use his chest to get up and aim a weak punch to his jaw. He tightened his hold around her middle, making her yelp when it forced her to bend her arms and drive another punch to the floor instead.

“Calm dOWN, GODDAMNIT” Joel snapped, at last, when she almost kneeled him in the groin.

Probably a little rougher than what Joel would have been strictly comfortable with while talking to a child, specially a terrified one, but it seemed to do the trick, considering she stopped fighting to stare at him, the surprise in her eyes making him wonder just how much of that reaction was conscious or barely automatic.

Anyway, she stopped.

“Cool off, kid. I’m goin’ to let you go, but” Joel tried to ignore the barely visible flinch “you better not scream when I do it”

Well, at least she lifted one eyebrow, a look in her face that would be just like any other cheeky teenager’s if they were in literally any other situation.

“Don’t know if you noticed, but they have a hang wall they’re more than happy to put to use” that should have been a clear threat, but he felt the gnawing feeling she wasn’t talking about him. The next words pierced at the part of his heart responsible for his ever present anger toward the world “ If they see me, I’d be spending all of tomorrow’s morning hanging there”.

And God, sometimes Joel would curse that little part of him that cared still. What a punch, to hear a young thing saying shit like that with a normal face.

“Let’s just not drag their attention then, okay?” he said, not very keen on keeping hearing the kid talking. Also definitely not keen on keeping holding down a little girl.

Just to be sure she wouldn’t try to alert the guards, he let her go slowly. Not so surprisingly she was telling the truth, and despite still being wary of him, she made no attempts at screaming. Unfortunately for him she kneeled his ribs while trying to get up.

For some reason she stayed put until he got up, urging his body to go back to work with a slowness that he would forever deny.

“Where’s your dorm?” Joel asked, regretting it the moment the words let his mouth. Good job at trying to not be creepy.

The girl seemed to think the same thing.

He instinctively steeped back, lowering his shoulders to try to appear smaller, non threatening.

Before, when kids and babies where guarded by their parents and security laws, it was hard to tell, but two decades in the apocalypse was enough to see just how much humans can rely on their animals instincts.

Even avoiding kids, nowdays it was easy to see just how much kids are affected by wild instincts. Monkey brain and all, Tommy had said once.

“Why?” good job at not being a creepy, really good job.

“It’s way too late for a girl your age to be walking alone” he may loathe seeing kids, his own never failing to cross his eyes, but even him wouldn’t want to have to deal with the guilt of seeing some dead naked kid floating somewhere in the sewages.

The girl seemed to disagree, looking over his shoulder with excessive attention. He caught on the act pretty quickly, though.

Not safe.

Just to humour her, be lifted a eyebrow, before doing a whole turn over to look at what she had been supposedly staring at.

To his very little surprise, there was nothing, but he kept staring until the sounds of quick footsteps started to fade.

What was she, teen?

[sleepycentric]

guess what ive been binge watching guys

just a little doodle while watching joels vids i thought the axolotl bit was super entertaining to watch so have hermit joel bringing around his little buddies

[raticalshoez]

i'm having hyperfixation drought so i did what i did best and created a crossover episode

[mariatesstruther]

okay but a version of events in which tommy takes ellie to the fireflies, but NEITHER of them come back. and maria joel have to work together to get them back

[chemdisaster]

thinking about other characters, whose experience with watching their alliances get consumed by the cruel nature of the game grew on them like scar tissue and made them shy away from freely giving up all of themselves to someone else like that again, and about joel, who got burnt over and over in the worst possible way, but held on to that memory of something good in a world turned against them and only became more acquainted with loyalty, against everything he used to be

[crossbackpoke-check]

the pics of morgan and joel are from travis sanheim's wedding this weekend!

^^^me experiencing the one-two knockout punch of “oh they WERE each other’s wedding date” followed by the realization that sanny finally got married 🥹😭 cheers indeed!!!

[sugarcoated-lame]

should be asleep bc i have to be up in like 5 hours, but instead i’m awake and thinking about an idea for a best friend’s brother/college!joel au fic 👀

[foodlesoodlesdoodles]

Unfortunately for all of you this is a blog with OCs in it until the end of time

[blackberrydeer]

It has come to my attention that if I want people to give me requests for writing, I should first post my own writings here so

If you want to read them in a more solid form, I have a AO3 account... that, by the way, is pretty much empty right now because I wrote all my histories in a notebook and now I'm too lazy to decipher my own calligraphy to put it on the web.

Anyway, the history

Prompt: different first meeting inside Boston's QZ.

21 days to find you

Chapter 1/?

The day had been relatively good.

Or as good as a apocalyptic world inside a fucking facist Q.Z can be, at the very least. Joel was able to find easy work, a small favor asked from Tess: Lay low for, at least, one week.

He had been reluctant to follow said favor.

Sure, he was healing after being shoot, his ankle still hurt like hell from the small marathon they had done during their last job (which should have been goddamn easy peasy, Tess, you fucking said so) inside a Fedra’s facility, even more considering he had a sprained ankle earlier (from tripping in the damn stairs), but they were low on food, and supplies, and their ammo was no more than some kind of sweet dream at this point.

They weren’t open to take a rest, he had said, in very meaner words, when they started to discuss what to do next.

At least he won part of the argument. Joel was working, still, bad ankle and shoot and all. Unfortunately it was a Fedra’s work, and Tess was only-god-knows-where, doing a trade he’d been planning for months.

Despite the cold making his teeth chatter as an nonstop background sound, and despite the worries of not knowing where Tess was, (of course Joel trusted her, but she had been gone for two days, the 3° already ending) it was a good day, Joel thought to himself, bending in half to pick up more debris. The Fireflies had just bombarded a dozen Fedra’s supply deposits, what matched perfectly with the “Go fuck off to at least one easy job, Texas, you’re limping like a damn newborn” request.

Despite the cold, making all of his joints creak like boiling oil, it was a good day, he thought, carrying a piece of broken window, using his non-shoot shoulder to carry the heavier stuff.

Despite the cold, the day would have been good. Unfortunately Joel lived inside a goddamn apocalyptic world, and that world deemed acceptable to leave kids rotting in the rain, and despite everything, his only thought at the moment was a simple, instinctive:

She’s gonna catch a cold

Most of the people in the area had retreated at that point, scared away by the heavy rain, looking for refuge in their shit homes. Of course, the best decision he could make would be doing the same, but the prospect of doing absolutely nothing except stare at the walls of his shitty home was simply asking the universe to make his head think, and thinking was synonym for remembering, and he was not in the mood to do that.

His pills were all but used, no escape to sweet no-dreams sleep, so he stayed to finish the rest of the work. They were low on supplies, he’d be paid twice if he worked double.

The prospect of working till his body was ready to give out was a very attractive one.

Point is, Joel wasn’t alone, and while that was generally for the better in most cases, right now he was the only witness to the kid collecting pieces of what used to be a door, despite the heavy rain and despite every piece of wood being half of her size (what, honestly, wasn’t a very difficult size to reach, scrawny and small as she was). Young enough to have kid fatness (not that she had a lot of that, he concluded, going by what he saw in his side glances).

Joel also concluded that he should have went right back home after the first drops of rain, memories be damned. Now he was soaking wet, cold, tired, and remembering a small girl in the rain, running and playing and carrying all the light of the universe plus his heart in her eyes, not like the one currently carrying fucking debris with stick-like arms.

She’s gonna catch a cold, his currently not working mind repeated, and he took that as his clue to get out and lie in his bed until sleep came from sheer force of will.

He’d done his part of the work, anyway, certainly enough to get the damned ration card.

Despite the cold, making his lungs burn with the effort of breathing, it would have been a good day, if Joel had dragged his sore ass right back to his shitty home, and not to the kid carrying debris and the certainty of a fucking cold.

“Ki-“ like a deer caught in the headlights, she bolted, quicker than the blink of an eye, and the day would have been good if her memory had left with her.

Now he was alone, soaked wet, cold, tired, and doing nothing in the jobsite, and remembering fucking memories.

Without giving the universe another thought, he left.

[theflyingfeeling]

” #they all look submissive but some of them look submissiver than the others 😌 ”

Wanna elaborate who do you think looks the most submissive? 👀

I mean

look at this absolute dirty napkin of a man <3 he's just waiting for you to boss him around

although ngl I was as surprised as the rest of you to notice how good Tommi looks on his knees 😳

he looks like a man full of regret about his life decisions and is ready for the inevitable punishment 😔

Joonas, on the other hand, looks like if they made a limited edition Dance Moves Barbie™ but instead of dancing, all the kids make him do this:

Niko just looks like a rejected character from a Magic Mike sequel

...and then we have these fuckers who are probably just experiencing a normal Tuesday

[skoulsons]

.

[mariatesstruther]

mega famous a-list socialite badgirl tess servopoulos becoming friends with mega famous punk rocker frontman tommy miller. their publicists maria and joel have to work overtime together to keep the two from blowing up their respective careers

it gets a lil difficult when they start falling a lil bit in love with one another’s clients

[dindadjarin]

like if I’m completely honest with myself, yes I would have done the same thing. especially if the person who I love didn’t choose to die themselves. it would be different tho if said person got a choice in the matter, if they said “I want to do this, even if I die, I want to try and you have to accept that” I would have done it for them but if they explicitly told me so even if it crushed my heart.

[britneyshakespeare]

i listened to the fall out boy version of we didn’t start the first (listing 1989-2023 world events) and can i just say. first of all the original song is silly and not that deep in its commentary but at least it was like an original idea. there’s a reason your 11th grade history teacher played it in your class in the cold war unit, right? it sets a scene and a mood without even having to do anything but listing a bunch of pop culture and political iconography. but there’s also like, a sequence of events. fob’s really just throws events and names of things together sloppily in no particular order other than if they kinda rhyme. it has a lot less impact when thinking about the recent historical or present moment bc it’s just like “thing you remember, other thing you remember, other thing you remember” but from one object to the next they have no particular connection to each other in space or time. it’s poorly associated. 

[the-somwthing]

Poorly describing the life series players to help people pick which pov they want to watch

Grian: acts like he really cares about the rules but he doesn’t

Joel: probably on his red life right now

Jimmy: The Underdog

Cleo: arsonist in a constant state of divorce

Scar: just wants friends and money, but uses money-making tactics to make friends and friendship-skills to make money

Bdubs: extremely devoted, But Watch Out

Tango: least careful guy out there

Impulse: his series never has any form of betrayal in it trust

Etho: watch in real time as his reputation as a cool guy gets washed away

Skizz: wholesome and vicious but tends to mix up when he should be which

Martyn: funnyman lore guy theater kid

Scott: thought this was a house building competition. always killing himself. wins.

Pearl: watch in real time as she slowly goes insane

BigB: adhd but not in the overstimulating way. Watch in real time as he slowly becomes a compulsive liar

Ren: theater kid SUPREME

Mumbo: the least loyal guy in the whole series imo

Lizzie: doing her best to understand what’s going on at any given moment, terrified

Gem: (I wish I had more than one season to go off of) likes to make fun of people

[strang3lov3]

Bedridden

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man. 🍆💦❤️‍🔥

Joel is sick and refuses to rest, so you knock him out the best way you know how. (5.4k)

Tags - smut, lotsa sexual tension, blow jobs, pussy pronouns, teasing, fingering, unprotected piv, riding the sick old man’s cock, creampie, non-graphic descriptions of being sick. JOEL DOES THE DAD SNEEZE. coughing, fevers. That’s all. Joel is stubborn and grumpy while you take care of his old as fuck ass. Arguing with the old man, forcing the old man to bathe, forcing the old man to eat and drink, forcing a thermometer in the old man’s mouth. Joel bitching you out the whole time. Joel is kind of exactly like Dennis in IASIP when the gang gets quarantined. Fic Help - My usuals! @beefrobeefcal, your unhinged comments on the doc were the best part. and @endlessthxxghts thank you for your help <3 A/N - Heyyyyyyy. I promised this fic yesterday and then didn’t deliver. Sorry. It just needed to marinate in the doc a little longer or something. It’s been a bullshit ass few days and I’m,,,,handling it. Anyway, I’ve been sick as balls so that’s how this fic came about. Everybody wash your hands 🧼

There’s a fine point late in the year, right after summer turns to fall. You can fall asleep with the window over your bed cracked open just an inch to let the crisp, cool air blow over your face as you cocoon yourself in blankets. In the mornings you wake to that same breeze and the birds chirping, though less and less as they fly south for the upcoming winter. 

Not this morning, though. This morning, you’re awoken by a chesty, hacking cough coming from outside your window. You sigh as you get out of bed and push the curtains away from the window to get a better look at what the hell is going on out there. 

And it’s just your neighbor, Joel. You should have guessed it’d be him, you heard his earth shattering, deafening sneeze the other day when you waved to him as you walked by his house. Joel waved back at you with the same hand he sneezed into. Ew. 

Everyone’s getting sick lately, it goes around quickly in Jackson. Always does - it starts with the kids and works its way through the community, and a good four to six weeks are filled with endless sneezing and coughing and mucus.

Joel’s coughing up his lungs as he rakes up the leaves in your yard, a job he’s seemingly assigned himself, because you sure as shit didn’t ask him to do this. He has a habit of taking on your chores and home maintenance out of his own frustration. 

You pull a robe over your pajamas and slide on a pair of slippers, then leave out of the front door to greet Joel. “Good morning, Joel.” 

Joel clears his throat. “S’actually noon, lazy ass. ‘Bout time ya woke up.”

“Wanna tell me what you’re doing?”

“Exactly what it looks like.” He sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve. Gross. “M’workin’.” 

“Yeah, I see that. But you sound sick.” 

Joel ignores the accusation, “Your yard looks like shit, by the way,” he says. “Wouldn’t kill ya to rake once in a while. ‘Stead of makin’ me do it.” 

“You choose to do this. I don’t make you do anything,” you argue, rolling your eyes. It’s funny, though. Joel’s turning into the caricature of the old man angrily shaking his fist at kids playing on his lawn. All crotchety and pissed off about nothing. You step closer to him and wrap your hand around the handle of the rake, pulling it towards yourself. “Besides, Mother Nature put those leaves there for a reason,” you add. 

“Sure, smartass. For you to ignore and for me to clean up. Now, give it,” Joel tugs the rake back. Whatever. You let him. Joel rakes more of your leaves into the pile he’s created, then doubles over in another coughing fit. You rub your palm on his back, patting him gently. He’s sweating through his flannel. “Oh, Christ. Fuck me.” 

“Joel, you look awful.”

You help him stand up, “You’re a terrible flirt, darlin’,” Joel replies dryly. But he knows you’re not wrong. He saw in the mirror how pale he looked this morning, the dark circles around his eyes. 

“Oh, shut up.” You press the back of your hand against Joel’s forehead, all sweaty and warm. “You’re burning up, Joel. You’re sick.” 

“I am not sick,” Joel protests through another cough. “I’m fine. How ‘bout you worry ‘bout yourself ‘stead of fussin’ over me.”

“You’re hacking up a lung in my yard. I’ll worry about you all I want, thank you.”

In response, Joel grumbles something you can’t quite make out. You roll your eyes and take the rake from him, dropping it on the grass. “My rake,” Joel murmurs, annoyed and defeated. With your work clearly cut out for you, you take his hand and lead him into your house. “Aw, hell. What’re you doin’ to me.” 

“Taking care of you,” you reply.

“Didn’t sign up for this bullshit,” Joel complains. “I don’t need takin’ care of.”

Oh, he’s a peach. Most men, when sick, are total babies - pathetically crying about their headaches and stomachaches to women who deal with the same symptoms on a monthly basis. It’s charming, truly. But not Joel, though. In his stubbornness, Joel refuses to ever admit when he’s sick, like he’s got something to prove. Can never let himself be taken care of, because that’s his job - to take care of others. Always has been. 

Once inside, you have Joel take off his boots, then usher him to the bathroom with a hand on his back, his flannel damp with sweat. “Sit.” You reach for Joel’s shoulders and push him down, forcing him onto the lidded toilet. You crouch down at the bathtub and plug the drain with the stopper, then turn the water on - not too hot, not too cold. “Yeah, this is good. This’ll make you feel so much better.” 

“Oh, c’mon. Turn off the damn water. I’m not takin’ a bath.” 

“You are, too.” 

“Am not.” 

“Joel,” you bite. Joel parrots your name back in the same threatening tone.

“We’re breaking that fever one way or another, Joel. So you bathe yourself, or I’ll do it.” 

Joel cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, will ya, now?”

You go quiet, no retort to his comment. Heat rises to your cheeks and you focus on the bathtub filling with water to avoid Joel’s taunting gaze. After a long enough silence passes, Joel changes the subject. “I don’t have any clean clothes, y’know.” 

“Then I’ll grab you some from your house,” you mumble.

“Mm,” Joel grunts. “Got an answer for everything, don’tcha?”

You glare. Joel glares too. You fold your arms across your chest and raise your eyebrows at him. You are not losing this battle. 

Joel sighs in defeat. “Alright, go on an’ get, then. I’ll take the fuckin’ bath if it’ll get me fifteen minutes away from you obsessin’ over me. There. Happy?” 

“Happy.”

You leave Joel in the bathroom to bathe himself, closing the door behind you. Still wearing nothing but pajamas and a robe, you change quickly into a hoodie and jeans, then leave through your front door for the second time.

Joel’s house is right next to yours, so it’s not a long walk. Mentally, you’re kicking yourself for your stupid threat to bathe Joel. The way he responded to it, ‘Oh, will ya?’ and how bashful that made you, the embarrassment written all over your face in big, black, permanent marker. Your crush on the older man is obvious, and Joel, never the gentleman, will jump at any opportunity to make you squirm. Like when he catches your eyes lingering on him for a little too long, he’ll tease you for it. “S’rude to stare, y’know,” he’ll taunt, always with that stupid fucking grin on his face. Smile lines framing his cheeks, crows feet handsomely peeking at the corners of his eyes. You really need to stop setting yourself up for these things. 

Once in Joel’s house, you head upstairs for his bedroom and rifle through his dresser drawers for some comfy clothes. You pick out a pair of plaid boxers, some gray sweatpants, and a navy waffle-knit henley. You bunch up his clothes and inhale, Joel’s natural smell still lingering in the clothes, even washed. 

In his kitchen, you notice some vegetables sitting out on his countertops. Carrots, potatoes, onions. You grab those too, then check the fridge for leftover chicken or turkey or something. He usually has some, and usually brings it to you after he’s had his fill. “This is for you, trouble. Cause y’don’t eat enough,” he’ll gruff. “Would you like me to heat it up for ya?” And whether you say yes or no, he always does. It seems to make him happy or fulfill him somehow, so you let him take care of you like that. If only he’d let you return the favor.

Bingo. There’s chicken in old Tupperware right on the top shelf, and yesterday’s date written in Joel’s terrible handwriting from an old, dried up Sharpie. You take that too, then go back home. 

You leave Joel’s food you stole on the kitchen table and stop at your linen closet for a fresh towel. You knock on the bathroom door, “Joel?”

“Yeah, darlin’.”

“I have your clothes. And a towel.”

“Good. I need those,” Joel says. “C’mon in, then.” 

You open the door, averting your eyes from Joel’s naked body in the bathtub. “Relax. M’not gonna let you see somethin’ you ain’t ‘sposed to.” He’s got his hands covering his manhood, the rest of himself on display - toned biceps, veined forearms. His belly is pillowy and hairy and his legs look so long, all bare like this. His toes peeking out of the soapy bathwater. You set the towel and his clothes down on the toilet, stealing an even longer look at him when you think he doesn’t notice. “I see ya snoopin’, trouble. Wanna take a picture?”

You roll your eyes and ignore the offer, turning your attention to Joel but keeping your eyes focused on his face. His hair is slicked back, and his grays pop out against the rest of his dark hair, little ringlet curls at his neck. The asshole is criminally handsome. 

“Are you feeling better?”

“I feel fine. Like I’ve felt all day,” Joel lies. His body betrays him instantly when another cough wracks through him. 

“Right. Well, you smell better, at least.” 

Joel rolls his eyes, “Nice one, sweetheart. Thanks. Now scram, so I can get dressed.” 

You leave the bathroom, shutting the door behind yourself again. You can hear the sound of the bathtub draining and Joel getting out of the tub as you stop at the linen closet again, this time grabbing some queen sized sheets and pillowcases. 

In your living room, you pull some cushions off of your sofa and pull out the built-in bed, then dress it with the sheets and an old floral quilt. You cover your own pillows in the pillowcases, then fluff them nicely and set them up for Joel, who’s leaving the bathroom now, combing his hair back.

“Stole your comb,” he says, tossing it for you to catch. He stops in the living room and looks at the pull-out bed that you made up, the corners of the sheets tucked in and everything. “The hell’s all this?”

“Exactly what it looks like,” You mock his words from earlier. “Your bed.”

“You’re bein’ ridiculous. I ain’t even sick.”

You ignore Joel and point to the bed. “Get in.”

Joel rolls his eyes but gets in the bed anyway, springs squeaking under his weight. “M’not gettin’ in this bed ‘cause I’m sick or ‘cause you’re makin’ me. Just feel like sittin’.” 

“Sure, Joel,” you sigh. “How much water have you had today?”

“Plenty.”

“How much is plenty?”

“It’s enough,” he snaps impatiently. You leave him just for a second to fill a glass with some water, then bring it to him. Joel pushes the glass away, “I said I’ve had enough.” 

“I’ll decide what’s enough, now here–” you put the glass into his hand, “Drink.” 

Joel drinks the entirety of the glass, glaring at you the entire time. Good god, if looks could fucking kill. The cool water soothes his scratchy, sore throat, but Joel won’t tell you that. “You’re a tyrant, sweetheart,” he tells you, voice raspy and low. What he doesn’t tell you, however, is that if the shoe were on the other foot and you were the sick one right now, he'd be just as overbearing over your health. Probably worse. 

You pout mockingly at Joel as you take his glass. “Stay here. Don’t get up.” 

You get up from the bed to go into the kitchen and begin preparing a soup for Joel to soothe his aching throat. You start by dicing onions, then chopping some carrots. You toss them in a large pot with some butter, letting the vegetables soften. You’ve even got some leftover bread you made yesterday, so you turn on your oven to heat it up. You can hear Joel getting restless, tossing and turning in the less than comfortable bed. Probably should have turned on a movie for him, left him a book or something to occupy his restless mind. “You okay?”

“M’fine. Mind your business.” 

You open Joel’s Tupperware and chop up his chicken into little bits. When you look up, Joel’s out of bed. You scoff. He’s forcing open your window, grunting as it squeaks. “Joel, what did I tell you? Get your ass back in that bed.”

“Relax, would ya? M’tryin’ to get some air in here.” Joel successfully forces the window open, and cool air blows into your tediously warmed home. “House is a fuckin’ oven.”

“Yeah, well, that’s probably your fever talking, dumbass. Put my window down.” 

“I really outta fix this window for ya. Ain’t good to leave it like this. I’ll get my tools an’ I–”

You march across the kitchen and into the living room, knife in hand and using it to point to the bed. “Joel.”

“You scare me,” Joel mumbles, raising his arms in surrender. He closes the sticky window for you, then you march him back to the pullout. Before Joel lays down, he glances in the kitchen at what you’ve been cooking. He heard the sounds of you chopping, but with his nose all congested he can’t smell enough to hazard a guess as to what you’ve been making. Joel narrows his eyes at the stolen Tupperware on your table, the carrots and onion peels to the side, and recognizes it all as his. “Is that my…?” 

“Just lay down, Joel.” 

“Did you take that from my fridge?” 

“I did.”

You’re completely shameless about this, there’s not even a half-assed attempt at lying your way out, and Joel’s beside himself. “You stole from me, you little–” You urge Joel into bed, fluffing the pillows behind him as you ignore his tantrum. “You are unbelievable. I could throttle you, you know that?”

“Go ahead, Joel,” you challenge. A slight breeze could knock this sick old man down to his knees. You tuck Joel into the sheets, then adjust the quilt over him again. And this time before leaving him, you grab an old book of word searches in a basket under an end table. “Here.” You toss it to him along with a dull pencil. That should keep him busy.

Back in the kitchen, you’re still working on Joel’s soup. It’s bubbling away on the stove, and you’ve just finished making egg noodles to make the dish a little heartier. Something to stick to his ribs. It hits you then, that you don’t hear sniffling or coughing. Joel’s gone quiet, suspiciously so. 

And lo and be-fucking-hold, Joel’s up again. This time, with tools. Tools that you don’t have, tools that he must have snuck out and grabbed from his home at some point. “Joel!” 

“There,” Joel says, moving your window up and down seamlessly. “Window’s fixed.” 

“How many times do I have to say it?” 

“How about you try a ‘thank you’, huh?” Joel shoots back.

You shoo him back to bed. You slice a bit of warm bread, then ladle some soup into a bowl and bring it to him with a spoon. “Eat,” you tell him. 

Joel eats a spoonful, and it’s written all over his face how much he enjoys it, the warm broth relieving his sore throat. “So what’d you poison it with, huh?”

“Oh, you’re such a dick.” 

Joel smiles, only teasing. “M’sorry. S’just that you shouldn’t be doin’ all this for me, s’all.” Joel squeezes your knee comfortingly. “Thank you. I mean it, darlin’.” He’ll let you feed him, but no more than that. You’re too sweet for your own good. “S’good soup.”

“I’m glad you like it, you asshole.” You smile too, and push some of Joel’s hair out of his face. He finishes his bowl of soup, even has a second one. You take his bowl away and wash it at the sink.

“Should let me do that,” Joel says, following you into the kitchen. “Ain’t that how it works? One cooks, the other cleans.” Joel bumps you to the side and takes the soapy dish from your hands.

“Maybe another time,” you offer, attempting to take back the bowl. “Don’t want your germs on my dinnerware.” But Joel holds on tight, so you let him wash the dish. Since he wants to die on this hill. So you dry your hands, then feel his forehead once again. You frown, displeased that the bath didn’t work at curbing his fever at all. He’s still burning up. “I’ll be right back.” 

You go to your bathroom and open the cabinet vanity, where you have an old Walgreens thermometer, the paint all smudged off. You wash it with soap and water in the sink, then return to Joel. Amazingly, you find him in the bed doing his word search puzzle, and you didn’t even have to tell him to go lay down this time. 

The bed creaks under you as you sit down next to him. You put his book down, “Open,” you tell him, thermometer in hand.

“Oh, c’mon now,” Joel complains. “Get that thermometer outta my face.”  

You shake your head no, and tug on Joel's chin so that he opens his mouth. You place the thermometer under his tongue and he closes his lips around it, staring daggers at you the entire time thermometer reads his temperature. 

He’s so handsome. Big, sparkling brown eyes underneath brows knit together in irritation. Pouting lips. Age looks good on him, perfectly both softens and enhances his rougher edges.

The thermometer beeps. You read the temperature, 102.3°F. Why Joel’s even upright with a fever like this is a mystery, but that’s men for you. Fucking idiots. “That’s a hell of a fever you’re running, Joel.”

“You’re full’a shit. Gimme that.” Joel sniffles and snatches the thermometer from you to read the number for himself. He shrugs. “S’old. Probably faulty. Can’t trust it.” Joel covers his mouth with his elbow and coughs loudly. 

“You’re old and faulty too, Joel. Look at you.” You offer him a handkerchief to wipe his nose. “You’re falling apart.” 

Joel scowls at you before blowing his nose. You leave him once more, this time to bring him a cool, damp rag. You press it against his forehead, and Joel closes his eyes. “Does that feel nice?”

“No. Quit that.” 

But Joel’s body betrays him. He’s sighing in relief, and his tensed muscles loosen. His breathing, while still shallow, has slowed as much as it can, soft belly rising and falling with steady breaths.

“Are you falling asleep?” 

“No, I’m not. M’not tired,” Joel argues. He tries adjusting the now lukewarm rag, warmed by his body heat.

“You should sleep.”

“Nah.”

 You take the damp rag off of Joel’s forehead and flip it so that the cooler side soothes his hot, feverish skin. “You know, Joel, I think this is why god made women. To take care of stupid, sick men like you.”

“Hm. Could be so. But I think he sent you to me as a punishment of sorts.” 

“Is that so? A punishment?”

“S’right. An’ some day, you’ll fool some poor man into marryin’ you and he’ll have to put up with this same shit the rest of his life. I don’t envy that sorry bastard one bit.” 

“Oh, I know,” you coo, wiping away a droplet of water that rolls down his temple. “You tell me all about it, Joel. Tell me how terrible it is.”

“Oh, I intend to.” Joel continues his tirade, bitching and moaning about how you're doing too much, that none of this is necessary. ‘Quit fussin’ over me’ and so on.

You know that after this, Joel will try to leave you, go home and fiddle with things in his home that aren’t broken - or worse yet, he’ll tinker with the things in yours that he deems in need of fixing. Squeaky door, creaky floor panels. You listen to his slight wheezing, his sniffling, his voice all raspy and broken. He really does need to rest, the poor man. 

If you had cough syrup, you’d use that to put his ass to sleep. But you don’t, so you decide to utilize a different technique, one that always successfully incapacitates a man. 

You remove the damp rag from Joel’s head and set it on the coffee table behind you. Joel’s eyes are shut as he takes shallow breaths, and you trace lazy patterns on his stomach, inching your way down, down, until you’re rubbing his warm bulge, feeling him stiffen beneath your touch. “Goddamnit, what the hell are you doin’ t’me, now?” Joel groans. He takes your wrist and squeezes it gently in his grip.

“Nothing, Joel,” you answer innocently.

 “Bullshit, it’s - you’re - oh, fuck.” Joel bucks into your palm. You slide your hand beneath his sweatpants to touch his bare cock, amused at how Joel decided against wearing boxers today. “You’re killin’ me, sweetheart. You gotta, you can’t–”

“Shhh,” you hush him. You drag your nails through his patch of coarse hair, playing with those long and wiry hairs. You palm his cock again, half hard and growing harder by the second. Before this goes further, you tug his sweatpants down his thighs. “Lift up for me, Joel.”

Joel lifts his hips and you tug his sweats down the rest of the way, then continue touching him. You spit into your hand and pump him from top to bottom, taking special care to gently massage his balls when you reach the base of his cock. “Ohh, darlin’. Oh lord.” 

Joel’s stiffened to full length now. You kiss the tip of his cock, all the way down his shaft before licking your way back up, one long, fat stripe. You swirl your tongue around the head and dip your head, teasing him with it as you bob your head up and down, taking more and more of him down your throat with each pass.

Joel moans, his sick voice breaking a little. He keeps a heavy hand on your bobbing hand and wonders what the hell he did to deserve this from you. He should have stopped fighting his sickness long ago if this is what was in the cards for him. 

Realization dawns on Joel. It all makes sense, why you’re sucking him off at this particular moment. You’re trying to put him to bed, you goddamn deviant. “You’re trouble,” he accuses. “I know exactly what you’re doin’.” 

“Hmm?” You turn your head to Joel, his cock still in your mouth. You bounce it against your inner cheek, and Joel groans at the lewd image of his cockhead bulging in your mouth.

“Yeah,” Joel says. “And let me - oh, fuck-” You drop your head low, taking all of him into your mouth. So deep that your nose is buried in his pubic hair. “Let me tell ya, darlin’, what you’re doin - it ain’t gonna work on me.”

You pull off of his cock with a pop. “It won’t?”

Joel shakes his head. “Mm-mm. You’re wastin’ your time.” 

“Oh. Well, I should stop, then.” 

You begin to pull off of his cock, but Joel forces you back down. “Nah, you don’t have t - you gotta give it your best shot, right?”

You smile with Joel’s cock in your mouth. What a fucking guy. You pull off of him only momentarily, garnering a protesting groan spilling from his lips. You take off your shirt and unbutton your pants. “Lemme help you with that, c’mere, darlin’,” Joel says, pulling your pants and panties down your legs. He unclasps your bra next, then sheds his own clothing. 

You take him right back into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck his length. This time, though, you play with your pussy. As you move up and down Joel’s shaft, you slip through your folds, dipping down to your wet hole to gather your arousal on your fingertips. You circle your clit a couple of times, then push your fingers in and out of your pussy. 

“You fuckin’ yourself on your fingers, sweetheart?”

“Mm-hm,” you hum, mouth stuffed full of Joel’s cock.

Joel pulls your hand away and replaces your fingers with his own, much thicker and longer ones. “Let me,” he says. “S’my job. Shouldn’t have t’do that to yourself, ‘less you wanna. Or if I say so.” 

Joel spreads your thighs wider. He moves his pointer and middle fingers up and down, exploring your slick, velvety pussy. He sucks those two fingers and then his thumb and rubs tight circles around the sensitive nub, all swollen and wet with your arousal. You moan at the action, the vibration of your voice traveling right down his shaft and to his balls. He bucks himself into your mouth.

Joel inserts his middle and ring fingers into your pussy, pumping in and out slowly before curling them upward, stroking right where you need him to. “Got a nice fuckin’ pussy,” he purrs with his hoarse, gravelly voice. You pulse around his fingers, and Joel admires the way your tight hole hugs him as he moves in and out of you. “She’s makin’ such a mess, drippin’ all over me.” 

You twist your fist up and down Joel’s shaft as you suck him, working him closer and closer to the edge. Joel’s content with this, the prospect of coming down your throat and fucking you with his fingers. But you have a different idea, and when his balls are tightening and his shaft is twitching, his breathing quickening, you pull off of him. 

Joel groans in frustration, but his anger is quickly eased when you straddle his hips. You reach between your legs for his cock and stroke it, dragging the tip through your folds, up and down, up and down, dipping it in and out of yourself to tease him. “You’re fightin’ dirty.” 

 Joel’s exercised enough self control today and doesn’t let you tease him for long. He puts both of his large, weathered, and masculine hands on your waist and pulls you right down on his cock, the initial penetration causing a stretch so intense you see stars for a second. “Oh god, Joel,” you moan, clutching his shoulders. 

“I know, I know,” Joel whispers, rubbing your back. “You good, sweetheart? You need a minute?”

 “Just - just a second.”

 “Take your time. Know it’s a lot, you’ll get used to it.” 

Joel gives you a second, then inches you up and down on his cock to get you adjusted to the sensation of being so full of him. Soon enough, the ache dissipates and is replaced with pleasure, nothing but pure pleasure. You rest against his hot body, rocking your hips to grind against his pubic bone. 

You know that by the way he bucked his hips into your mouth, how he pulled you down on his cock, how even now he moves you, that he’ll tire himself out. Your plan was simply to make him come to knock him out, but this - this works too. Exhaust his body, get yourself off in the process. Killing two birds with one stone. 

Joel fucks you harder now, hands on your ass to move you up and down on his cock. He bends his legs at the knee for more leverage, bouncing you on his lap. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he grunts. He moves you so that your chest is right above his face, and one at a time, sucks your nipples into his mouth, teeth lightly grazing them. 

You hold onto Joel’s broad shoulders to steady yourself, looking down at him as he fucks himself into you. He’s so handsome, cheeks and chest all flushed red, a sheen of sweat glittering at his hairline, his graying curls damp. Joel’s eyebrows are knit together as he fucks you, tracing your curves with his gaze. He pulls you against his chest as he ruts against you, his scruff scratching your skin so deliciously. “Takin’ me so good. Look so pretty on my cock like this.” 

You move at his will. Joel’s underneath you, rocking himself  in and out of your dripping, tight pussy. His thrusts are getting sloppy, hips stuttering in a non-rhythm as he pushes himself inside you over and over. He must be getting close now. 

“Up, sweetheart. Lean back f’me.” 

You peel yourself off of Joel’s middle, all slick with his sweat. Joel spits into his hand and presses the calloused pads of his fingertips against your clit. You roll your hips against him, savoring that much-needed friction against your clit.

“Like that, darlin’. Jus’ like that. Fuck yourself on my cock,” Joel says, rubbing your sensitive bud with tight circles. “Gonna watch you come all over me.” 

“Yeah,” you moan, “Wanna come for you.” 

Joel loves you like this. Your face contorted in pleasure, mouth agape, body quivering and twitching on top of him. He steadily massages your wet, swollen clit and wears a crooked smile when he feels your cunt start to pulse around him. And you think you’re pulling one over on him, but look at you, all fucked out and delirious. You’ll probably crash after this, and Joel will go right back to fixing up your house. There’s a door hinge that’s been squeaking…

“Oh my - Joel, I’m - I’m gonna -” 

“Know you are, sweetheart. Let me have it,” he groans, voice all broken and hoarse. “Come all over my cock, darlin’. Let go f’me.” 

That hot, sticky pleasure in your gut begins to intensify rapidly. You go quiet just before it happens, then let out a long, whimpering moan when your orgasm takes over your body. You shudder and jerk as Joel fucks you through your release, and once you’ve ridden it out, Joel pulls you tight against his chest. 

While you come down from your high, Joel frantically fucks you, slamming his hips against yours as he chases his own climax, balls tightening and his belly filling with warmth. “Oh, goddamn. Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Joel pants as he comes, painting your insides with his hot seed, the warmth of his release and the pulsing of his cock so satisfying. 

Coming down from his orgasm, a wave of exhaustion hits Joel. He finds himself unable to move, unable to open his heavy eyelids. He might’ve been wrong, because napping away the rest of the afternoon doesn’t sound quite so bad, now.

You pull your body off of Joel’s and he lets out a sighing grunt when his softening cock slides out of your body, the mess he created with you spilling all over his lap. You grab that washrag you held against his forehead and clean him up and then yourself, then get up to dispose of it. 

Joel grabs you by the arm, his grip weak. “Don’t you go anywhere, trouble,” he grumbles. 

“But I’ve gotta take care of this, Joel,” you protest. 

“Deal with it later. Just -” Joel yawns and pulls you down and holds you tight against his chest, as tight as he can, anyway. “Jus’ stay with me a minute.” 

Joel’s eyes are still shut, and his breathing becomes slow and rhythmic. It’s laughable how quickly sleep is taking over his sick, exhausted body, having used what little life he had in himself to fuck you stupid. Like that last burst of energy from a dying star. “I thought you weren’t tired,” you tease.

Joel sniffles. “M’not.” 

“Mhm. Sure.” 

“Just checkin’ my eyelids for holes.”

You push some curls out of Joel’s face and hold your palm against his cheek, still hot with his fever. He’s so peaceful looking like this, plump lips pouting as he breathes through his mouth. You bring your face close to his and close the gap by pressing a little kiss against his lips. 

“What’re you kissin’ me for, hm?” 

“I want to,” you reply, kissing him again.

“Gonna get yourself sick,” Joel murmurs groggily, eyes still closed. “Which means in a couple days, I get to do all this right back to you. S'payback, darlin’.”

You chuckle. And in just a few short seconds, Joel’s snoring lightly, dead to the world.

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