#he’s kind of asleep i guess
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deklo · 2 months ago
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💖💖
hello my sweet sweet pal. i hope you’re doing ok today 🙂‍↕️🖤🤲
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here’s a picture of my dog asleep for u ♡
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sualne · 1 year ago
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redraw and headcanon
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plain-and-simple-ninja · 5 days ago
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I've had a dream in which someone made a cover of "the last supper"/"gethsemane" from jesus christ superstar, but the lyrics were changed to fit viktor and jayce and it was AMAZING. SPECTACULAR. i wish it was real sdfghjkl
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radiaking · 2 months ago
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rip to coop when lucy comes stumbling out of rita's tent looking all flushed and pleased and he has to do the math on that.
slkdfjalskf PLS. this poor man. feeling several kinds of ways about it tbh. he ain’t mad about it….but he is also not happy about it lmfao.
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infinitefinalsweek · 3 months ago
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Had a dream last night that ended with a genuinely frightening introduction of bill cipher and then when I refused to make a deal with him my ass WOKE UP at like 2 am and when I went back to sleep I had one of the worst most harrowing nightmares of my entire life. Sooooo. Wtf
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softquietsteadylove · 1 year ago
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A very rare Pokémon accidentally (gets spooked) poisons Gil, while he observed it and took some notes. and because this Pokémon is usually not here the berries and medication in the poke Centre are not helping him. Thena sees his notes and tries to find a antidote for him, while Gil’s health gets worse and worse by every hour!
It’s time for some drama and angst 😳
Thena ran her hand over the crescent moon in Teddiursa's fur. He was finally asleep after a harrowing couple of hours. She couldn't blame him for being upset, of course. He had been a mess of tears when Gil came into the medical wing for poisoning.
She had been at the ranger centre already to check in on her little cub, busy on a day of junior ranger duties. They had both been told that Gil was on the way back from the field with an undetermined cause of poisoning.
Dragonite had brought him in, carrying him in its arms and letting out distressed moans like a suffering Wailord. It hadn't seen what poisoned Gil; they didn't know if it was a pokemon, a plant, some kind of spore, a latent effect, an attack etc.
"Chansey," the nurse tending to Gil turned to her. The doctors had done all they could, and the Chansey and Blissey and Audino were administering antidotes and psn cures and pecha berries every half hour. They had even turned to using Heal Bell and Calm Mind on him, but nothing seemed to be working.
If anything, he just kept getting worse.
"Thank you," Thena whispered, nodding to the Chansey on its way to attend to the rest of the patients in the medical wing. Gil was privileged to have a private room, and she was grateful for it.
She stood, leaning over him to look at the continual damage the poison was doing. His lips had a bluish undertone, his skin was pale and sallow despite his high fever. The only reason his face wasn't contorted in pain was because he was sedated so heavily by not only medication but she had even asked Gallade to use Hypnosis on him.
"Oh, Gil," she whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear as she ran her free hand over his cheek, around his oxygen mask. She leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek.
"Teddi?"
"I'm sorry, Luvdisc," she whispered as Teddiursa turned to look at her, rubbing at its eyes. He was tucked into Gil's side. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"Ted?" he looked up at her with watery eyes.
"No, I'm afraid not," she sighed. Teddi looked at Gil and then up at her, holding out his paws to be picked up. "Oh, come here."
Teddiursa had actually put on a very brave front when Gil had first arrived in his condition. He was a junior ranger, after all, and so followed procedure. He notified the rest of his team, checked in with Dragonite, informed the scouting team of the approximate region where it happened.
Only when Thena had brought him in with her to see Gil had he broken down into tears, wailing into her shoulder.
She had told him he was being a very brave little bear. But every time she thought it, she dreaded to think that she might have to tell him that more and more. She might even be the only one to ever call him that from now on...
"Teddi," he turned his face from her shoulder to look at her, swiping his paw pads - careful of his long claws - against her cheeks. "Ted-Teddi."
Thena sniffled, letting him brush her tears away, "thank you, darling. I'm sorry, I won't cry."
"Teddiursa."
"You're right, he will be," she agreed, no matter how out of reach that optimism truly was for her at the moment. She picked up Gil's notebook again.
They had all scoured it, looking for any clues as to what could have caused this. His condition was worsening because they couldn't narrow down the effectiveness of a cure. They needed more information.
His ranger team couldn't make heads or tails of his notes, turning to canvasing the whole route where he had been and collecting all the samples they could. Dragonite was heading that team, all of them with the case details in their ranger dexes.
Dragonite had left Thena the actual notebook, determined that if anyone had a chance of deciphering them, it was her.
Thena unfolded the little notebook again with a sigh. They had at least narrowed down the particular route within the valley where he was. He had drawn some truly horrendous pine trees, and a few blobs they had determined to be Oddish and Gloom. All of his notes were such a loose stream of consciousness, they weren't very coherent.
wild flowers!--pick some for Thena
Thena sniffled again but blinked her tears away. They weren't helping anyone.
There were a few musical notes drawn in the corner. The rangers had discussed which bird pokemon they could be referencing, but she had said that he would have just drawn the pokemon if that were the case. She was willing to bet that it meant it was windy wherever it was.
Pine trees and a lot of wind - as well as dense enough forest for Oddish and Gloom - indicated the north eastern cliffs, housing a lot of grass and bug pokemon.
someone DROPPED in to see me!
Gil loved silly jokes like that. They were stupid, and dumb, and by all the legends alive did she love them. She hated the idea that she would never get to tell him that.
Was it a Spinarak? Or even bigger--an Ariados? He hadn't been bitten, though. Maybe it was a poison sting, but they couldn't find any actual barbs in his skin when scanning him. Maybe it was toxic, but he wouldn't be incapacitated, he would be shaky and sick to his stomach and flushed with fever.
"Dropped in," she sighed, looking over the last filled out page again, and again and again. She hadn't stopped looking at it, until she was so frustrated that she wanted to start screaming.
There was a little drawing in the corner that looked like...well, it could look like anything. It could be a tomato berry, or a colbur or a babiri berry, for that matter. But they wouldn't be in that location, let alone high enough to fall on him. The little bumpy ball could be a Cascoon/Silcoon, a Ferroseed--even a Koffing or a Whirlipede would make some sense. Honestly, it could be a terribly drawn Quilfish or Goomy, they were desperate enough.
"Dropped in," she repeated again, running her thumb along the drawing he had made on the side of the page in the margins. It just looked like a blob on a stick, really--like a cattail blowing in the wind.
Dropped in; something had fallen down and spooked him, or he had spooked it. He had been able to write that note down, and sketch the thing before it attacked him, or he touched it, or whatever had happened. It wasn't Poison Sting, or Toxic, or even Pin Missile. All of those would have physical evidence on him.
What if it was something that dissolved?
Thena stood and leaned over him again. She tilted her head this way and that, looking for small details--constricted veins, bloodshot eyes, signs she could recognise when her pokemon experienced them. She run her thumb along his bluish lip before pulling his mouth open just a little. "Purplish tongue."
"Teddi?" Teddiursa rose from where he had been leaning against her in her visitors chair.
She opened the book, angling the drawing as right side up as she could guess it was drawn. "What does that look like to you, sweetheart?"
"Ted?"
"Please, honey, just think," she encouraged, ruffling the fur between its ears. "If you saw this pokemon, what would it be?"
Teddiursa made a face. It wasn't like any pokemon it could remember seeing. "Teeeeeeeeeeed..."
Thena stayed crouched down, holding out the picture, "I think it's a bug, or at least a poison type. I don't think it attacked him--I think it was a defense mechanism. Maybe he tried to pick it up and it had effect spore?"
"Ted-Ted," the little bear tilted its head at the funny drawing. He was trying to determine if it was hanging down or standing up. "Teddi?"
"A what?"
Teddiursa jumped down from the chair, mimicking first a little ball, and then splaying out his paws and claws and flailing them. "Teddi!"
"Drops from the trees," Thena narrated as she tried to extrapolate what pokemon Teddiursa was describing purely from young memory. "It's a ball?"
"Ted!" he waved his paws around again.
"But when it drops, it opens up," she guessed, and he pointed a claw at her. "So it's not a Ferroseed, or even connected to a Ferrothorn."
"Teddi!" he continued, now spinning around on his paw.
"Spins," she groaned, searching through every pokemon she could think of in her mind. Kids these days had it so easy with their pokedexes right in their pockets or on their wrists. "A little ball that drops down and spins...spins?--Rapid Spin?"
"Teddi! Teddi...ursa!" her little cub described, miming and Explosion.
It used Explosion and Self-Destruct. They weren't looking for a poison barb, they were looking for a defensive pokemon. One that didn't have much attack power and relied on high trees for its habitat. It dropped down when frightened and could only defend itself in close proximity (no limbs).
Thena reached for Gil's ranger gear, calling Dragonite. "It's a Pineco!"
It asked if she was sure, which she could understand.
"It's a Pineco--it dropped out of a tree when he found it," she continued, looking at the drawing that was now so obvious: it was a bagworm. The little blob was the Pineco itself, but the other drawing was because Pineco wasn't the pine cone pokemon, it was the Bagworm pokemon. "Sometimes they can know Toxic Spikes when they're young. Toxic Spikes are proximity based, and they dissolve into the skin once they've made contact."
Dragonite let out a roar on his end, directing the rangers with it to the area with Pineco in the trees. It let out a softer howl to her before signing off.
Thena dropped her head, letting her tears fall freely. They had an answer--it wasn't a solution yet, but it was a hell of a lot closer. "Thank Arceus, thank Celebi, thank anyone out there."
"Teddi?" her little cub latched onto her ankle as she hunched over Gil's bed.
She sniffled and smiled, picking up her little bear and pressing kisses to his furry cheek. "You deserve the medal of honour, you brilliant bear, you."
"Teddiursa!" the cub laughed as she tickled him. He didn't know what he had done, but he was glad to see her tears fade.
"Audino?" the nurse for the next treatment poked its head in.
"Please," Thena waved in the Hearing Pokemon. "I just called Dragonite's team. I think it was a Pineco with Toxic Spikes that did this."
"Aud!" the nurse gasped, its ears fluttering and snapping its fingers(?) at the realisation.
"It makes sense, right?" Thena sighed, to which the medical assistant agreed. She nodded, "Dragonite will be back with a sample as soon as possible. But if we know it was Toxic Spikes, then-"
"Aud-Audino," the nurse assured her that they could use a more specified - effective - treatment, even before they started synthesizing the antidote. It went to Gil's equipment, making a few adjustments to certain levels of things (whatever they were). "Aud!"
"Thank you," Thena nodded as the pink pokemon left to alert her colleagues to the situation. Thena leaned all the way over the bed, pressing her tears into the shoulder of Gil's shirt. "Thank Eternatus you're okay."
Gil's eyes fluttered.
"Sh, sh," Thena cooed, not wanting to wake him if he was just going to feel awful.
He blinked at her, "hey."
Thena blinked as tears started streaming from her eyes again. "Hey."
Gil moved his eyes around a little (the most movement he could muster at the moment). "Is...am I dying?"
Thena shook her head, kissing his forehead, "not anymore."
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ereborne · 6 months ago
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Song of the Day: May 29
“Evil Like Me” by Kristin Chenoweth & Dove Cameron for Disney's Descendants OS
#song of the day#time is fake! sometimes I'm awake and it's logical to assume that sometimes I'm asleep! and the days must pass but do I ever know?? nope#fuck I spent all day thinking today was the last day of the month and then it turns out it's not even Thursday#sang 'Evil Like Me' with Duncan at the dinner table while I ate the cabbage and I made this cabbage after the work not-a-bbq so#almost definitely that was today!#I fell asleep standing up in the shower again but the drain has been draining very slowly so when I woke up there was water above my ankles#if I flood our house with the water from my shower while I am actively standing in it and I don't notice because it's the only time I sleep#I'm going to shrink myself down and move in with the mice colonizing our neighbor's boat trailer#the mice will never know my shame. Duncan will put cheese sandwiches out in the alley for us and it will be more than I deserve#this is a really good song. very fun lyrical nonsense and also very fun musically to sing. love the idea of Kristin Chenoweth Maleficent#'I have tried my whole life long / to do the worst I can / clawed my way to victory / built my master plan#now the time has come my dear / for you to take your place / promise me you'll try to be / an absolute disgrace'#Nick really doesn't like this song for some unspecified reason--we've asked but he just gets kind of mad? like it should be obvious?#I think maybe he thinks they're making fun of people who sing about like. doing crimes? being bad???????????????#like honestly what could be more punk she's literally Maleficent but go off I guess#I dunno but if I were going to be mad about a Descendants song that I occasionally roam the house over-selling#it wouldn't be a Broadway-star-supported certified banger like 'Evil Like Me'#it'd be goofyass 'Rotten to the Core' where I'm playing four parts simultaneously and pitching my voice up and down like a rollercoaster#love that fucking song it's so dumb and it's so much fun and I get to stomp on the chorus bits
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dallonwrites · 2 years ago
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More than anything, he wants to smoke, but he can’t, knows he can’t, so he presses his head against the wall and tries to remember how to distract himself. What the books he borrowed said to do, the ones that he forgot to finish but hey, at least he had cigarette savings to spend on library fees. He needs something tangible, productive, keeps his hands busy, which trying to think of something makes him want to rip his hair out, which he can’t do because he just washed it and the soft curls are probably his prettiest part.
this man’s internal voice....
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rosielav · 1 year ago
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Bellefast has been coming to me in my dreams recently, in a similar way to how Monteith and Jibblie do
I find myself at The Circus, but in a sleeping quarter of some kind. And I can hear the festivities going on outside, in the big top. I'm apparently just passing through, but know everyone well enough that they let me stay on the property.
The only person I don't know is Bellefast, which is strange since he's the Ringleader, you tihnk I'd know him quite well, if I know all the clowns and performers and stagehands.
And he doesn't know me. So when he stumbles into the sleeping quarters, whiskey and candy floss on his breath, and falls into the bed, he's caught by surprise. As am I.
It feels like maybe a creative exercise? Maybe my brain wants to flesh this character out more, so it's putting him into my almost asleep brain so that I have to learn more about him.
So far I've learned he has a drinking problem.
#Rosie rambles#My dreams have been very strange lately especially my almost dreams like I'm about to fall asleep state#Whenever I describe things like this none of my friends think it's normal#Like to fall asleep I have all these situations play out and scenes and I don't have control over them#I can be like man I wish Monteith was here cause I can't sleep#And then Monteith will crawl out of the closet and Jibblie will be doing cartwheels on his shoulder#And he'll say something to me in a voice I never expect bc that's kind of his thing#And then usually Jibblie will do a trapeas act or something to keep my brain occupied#Trapese? Trapeese? I don't know how to spell it. You know the flips and shit#But the past two or three nights it's been Bellefast and I have little control over him#Meaning I can't think for him to say something or do something he just does what he wants#Which is to sleep. Drunkenly. Next to me#I didn't even mention his mind control powers but it's more like... Persuasion? Or like.. I want this#So you want this now too#Idk how to describe it exactly but it's kind of like Damien from The Bright Sessions except he uses it for good#...... Mostly. He mostly uses it for the big top performances and getting everyone genuinely excited about The Circus#He doesn't implant false feelings into your brain it's more like he coaxes out stuff like you WANT to be having a great time right now#So then they DO have a great time#I guess it's like releasing your inhibition? Versus mind control technically#But yea the drinking problem is more of a concern to me lol he relies on it after every performance regardless of the time of day#OC: Bellefast#I think I want to tag my OC places too#The Circus
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vigilantejustice · 1 year ago
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incomprehensible goop under the cut
there’s this real weird time circa 2007 that exists in this black hole of a void in my mind in that it doesn’t exist as a solid tangible confirmable memory but does exist insofar as that there’s this deep understanding that something did happen. there’s probably a protective or safety mechanic in play in not remembering but boy it would clear some things up
#there’s a whole chunk of year eight that has entirely vanished for me#still in contact with one friend from school who i met in year ten#except she says we met and routinely hung out in year eight#which is true because she has proof of it but i have genuinely no memory it’s just not there for me#and year eight is when things got real bad at home with mum + dad drinking + fighting#and the one sort of maybe memory i have is of waking up with my dad in my bed#like i remember waking up realising he was there and then pretending to be asleep until he woke up and left#but it’s one of those things that i’m worried is not a real memory y’know? like my memory is so spotty that year what if this wasn’t real?#but then it’s like maybe that’s why my memory is spotty#it’s impossible to know i guess#but the other thing i just remembered was walking to school one morning#around that time#and being just. a mess. like all i remember is repeating the kids song#’nobody likes me everybody hates me guess i’ll just eat worms’#like a mantra#got no other memory surrounding it just that it was a bad time capital b#the other thing that kind of fits in is that another friend from high school claimed to be a little bit psychic#which sounds objectively kooky#but one new years we were housesitting + she offered to do a reading sort of thing#where she looked into my eyes + she explained it like that she would see different doors in a persons mind#and that some were locked some were open some were really truly bolted shut some were lightly locked etc etc#+ so she did it with me + there was a very genuinely inexplicable feeling#but after a couple minutes she stopped and just said ‘i’m so sorry’ and looked very sad#but refused to tell me what she’d come across because she felt it wasn’t her place to tell me#and again i know this all sounds very woo woo but this truly did feel like. something#y’know? and when you put it together with the other things it starts to paint a sort of not very cool picture#but again with no concrete proof it’s not something that can#just be brought up because there’s no way to know for sure if it’s something or not#like you can’t unribg that bell of an accusation#and i don’t know that i’d even be able to truly believe it without proper proof
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phantomrose96 · 1 day ago
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So I tend to put on a youtube video most nights to fall asleep to (laptop on a shutdown timer.) And lately, my recommendations are a lot of videogame speedruns or videogame hidden facts.
Last night I pulled up youtube and got a "I played the 10 worst wii games ever" kind of video. ~30 minutes long. Fair enough! Show me the terrible wii games.
I'm paying attention for the beginning, since hey I'm still awake. And maybe like, 6 minutes into the video the guy starts going into heavy detail about how to pirate and copy wii games.
And I'm like, shit, bold, considering this video has 500,000 views. Bravo and all that.
The terrible wii games go on. I fall asleep.
I wake up to the sound of like... mechanical grinding?
Look at the laptop. There's a guy in a hazmat suit mixing dangerous chemicals, going "hey don't mix these dangerous chemicals."
I'm like, "Oh, the video ended. And the algorithm put me on... chemical mixing Youtube I guess."
I look at the video Title. "I Played The Worst Wii Games Ever Made"
....Oh.
It's still the video.
So surely he is... mixing chemicals to clean off an unplayable wii disk? Trying to touch up the lone copy of some forgotten game bought off ebay?
No...
He's just.
Mixing chemicals.
I hover over the video sections.
The 10 worst wii game sections have ended. He played them all.
The last 10 minutes is just dedicated to... him in a hazmat suit mixing dangerous chemicals.
....????
I fall back asleep.
....
I need to go back and check this video to make sure I did not imagine this all in a half-asleep stupor
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kindacreepy-kindaugly · 10 months ago
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Hilarious how I get panicky just thinkin about some regular consensual nonviolent sex w/ someone who treats me like a person cause it makes me feel like I'm gonna owe him
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strang3lov3 · 1 month ago
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Bedridden
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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.
If you enjoyed, please please please reblog with thoughts or comment or hop in my inbox! Your kind words go farther than you know in keeping me motivated to write 💕
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t4tdanvis · 1 year ago
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if i said i was normal about this idea would. would u believe me
#❄.txt#guess what: im not normal about this idea#vylad wanting to clean up genes wounds but 1 gene wouldnt let him and 2 thatd make everyone really suspicious#itd also make gene suspicious that vylad actually cares about him. which would entirely ruin vylads plan#eventually (like. after about 8 months of visiting and talking) vylad comes in when gene is half asleep#theres blood running down genes face and he has a really bad bloody black eye#vylad fucking Panics and immediately rushes over to help clean him up while asking what happened#gene is just like 'i dont want to talk about it' and vylad just goes 'okay' and continues cleaning up genes wound#they just kind of sit there with vylad hugging gene (after a couple mins of vylad trying to figure out where to hug him where it wont hurt)#after maybe ten minutes gene starts talking about dante#vylad just sits there listening as gene breaks down rambling about how much he misses his brother and how he wishes he could go back#eventually genes just like 'i dont think i can ever make up for what i did. im irredeemable. ive hurt and killed so many people. this is#only karma' and vylad just. sits there. silently. because he feels the exact same way about himself and doesnt know how to respond#after a few minutes he says 'sometimes you cant make up for things. sometimes you just have to move on and do better'#gene responds by falling asleep in vylads arms#a few days later vylad is like 'alright gene were getting you out of here' and has to basically drag gene out a window#'but i-' 'shhhhh. be quiet' 'but-' 'gene. shut up. im saving you whether you like it or not' '... ok'#vylad goes from 'i can fix him (i cannot)' to 'I FIXED HIM 🥳'#well. he hasnt fixed the Trauma and Guilt but that can wait :>#do u guys like the fanfic i dont have the skill to actually write
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silhouettecrow · 1 year ago
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365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 284
Adjective: Fuzzy
Noun: Dragon
Definitions for those who need/want them:
Fuzzy: having a frizzy, fluffy, or frayed texture or appearance; difficult to perceive clearly or understand and explain precisely, or indistinct or vague; (of a person or the mind) unable to think clearly, or confused; (of popular music or electric instruments) having or producing a distorted buzzing tone, or fuzzed; (computing) (logic) relating to a form of set theory and logic in which predicates may have degrees of applicability, rather than simply being true or false, and it has important uses in artificial intelligence and the design of control systems
Dragon: a mythical monster resembling a giant reptile, sometimes shown as having wings, and in European tradition the dragon is typically fire-breathing and tends to symbolize chaos or evil, whereas in East Asia it is usually a beneficent symbol of fertility, associated with water and the heavens; (derogatory) a fierce and intimidating person (typically used of a woman); another term for flying lizard; (historical) (in the 16th and 17th centuries) a short musket carried on the belt of a soldier, especially a mounted infantryman; a soldier armed with a short musket carried on the belt
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luveline · 3 months ago
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spencer x reader where she kisses his forehead and he’s 🥹🥹
“Spencer, are you dead?” 
Spencer ignores your question by accident. Heavy head in hand, he’s slowly sinking closer and closer to the hotel breakfast table to rest. His neck twinges with the effort it takes to stay up. 
“Spencer,” you say more sharply. 
His eyes track like the air is honey. He settles on your sluggishly while offering no greeting, tiredness pulling at him. “My eyes hurt,” he offers. 
“Make you some tea.” 
“Um, okay.” He’s disappointed when you leave, then dozing, face pressed to his desk as itchy eyes press along lids. It feels as though his eyelashes have turned inward. 
You return with a cup. Spencer grabs it blindly, lifts his head to squint one eye open. “What?” he asks. 
There isn’t tea in the cup. There are tea bags, two of them, wetted and leaking tan beige along the white china of the mug. Distinctly no tea. You must be tired too. 
“They’re for your eyes, Spence. They’ll make your eyes hurt less. The caffeine restricts your blood vessels to calm the inflammation, and the tea itself soothes sore skin.” 
“How do you know that?” he asks. 
You rest a hand on his shoulder. “I read about it in a book of modern home remedies. It really works. Here, can you tip your head back?” 
Spencer is very, very tired, but your voice is nice, your fingertips gentle against his neck, so he tips his head back. He doesn’t know how terrible he looks, having forgotten his untucked shirt, his rumpled sweater vest, his hair sticking up all over the place. 
“Close your eyes,” you murmur. 
Spencer shuts them. 
“It’s cold,” you warn, “but it’ll feel nice.” 
Spencer doesn’t care. He waits for you to move. The tea bags you place on his closed eyes feel cold and at first they sting just a touch, perhaps tea finding its way through his lashes, and he can’t confess to noticing a difference in soreness. 
“Hey… what’s this? It looks like it hurts?” you ask, drawing a short line over the side of the bridge of his nose. There’s an indent there that feels like a bruise.
“I fell asleep at my desk with my glasses on,” he says. “They dug in.” 
“You were up late, I’m guessing. Maybe you should go back to the room.” 
“No, I can’t. I’ll be okay. Thank you for the… tea.” 
Your hand rests tentatively against his cheek. He can’t open his eyes to see what you're feeling, and he doesn’t need to. There’s emotion to be felt in your slow strokes, how your thumb rests along his jaw as your nail scratches to the top of his ear, then behind the shell of it. It’s intimate enough to summon a different kind of tiredness. Exhaustion swapped for content. He could sleep in the curve of your palm all day. 
“You’re welcome,” you say. “I’m gonna take them off for a second to check the damage.” 
You take them. Your breath draws near. 
A warmth presses to his forehead atop his left eyebrow. Spencer doesn’t know what it is until your nose graces just above it, and your lips part —it’s a kiss. You’re kissing him sweetly, your fingers sewing through his hair. 
He peels his sore eyes open to look at you. You lean back as unhurried as you’d ferried forward, your hand cradling the nape of his neck. 
“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask. 
Spencer stares up at you. In that moment, tired, aching, and balmed, he’s completely in love with you. You must see a little of it, your lips parting again in an unnamed emotion. It’s sheer luck that you’re the only one awake with him, because if any of his teammates saw the way he was looking at you they’d never let him forget it. And, he gets to see your reaction. Your partial smile. 
“Did that help?” you ask. 
You must mean the tea. “I feel better.” 
“Yeah? Do you…” Your voice turns to cashmere, a thread of bemusement tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Would another one be okay?” 
Spencer can only nod as you wrap your arms around him and position your mouth at the soft skin where his hair meets his forehead. When you kiss him again, his eyes flutter shut. 
“You really need some help with your insomnia,” you murmur. 
Spencer wonders if maybe you’d want to be that help. You must have melatonin in your kisses.
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