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JAVIER PEĂAâS HOTTEST MOMENTS
7. 80/139 votes â Javi pulling up his pants after having relations with Helena in The Sword of SimĂłn Bolivar
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Just a PSA to anybody writing fic about Joel Miller, this is what his bed looks like.
Thank you for your time.
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texas sweet
summary: joel is your friendly neighborhood dad of the year, so why is his driveway empty on father's day? better yet, why do you feel the need to make up for everyone elses absence?
tags: 18+, smut, handjob, desc of joel mastubrating, a "massage", neighbor!joel x f!reader, massages, general cheesiness, soft!joel, pathetic!joel, almost(?) sub!joel, reader gets blueballed (sorry), biting, joel whimpering, joel being a proud girl dad, no-outbreak, ellie and sarah exist, tommy is mentioned(!!), joel is a southern gentleman, mention of reader having parents, no desc of reader but she can fit between joel and the couch, dilf!joel (yum)
a/n: my first joel fic ever... i would like to thank every person who has written no-outbreak!joel or pre-outbreak!joel. i freaked it.
(4.9k, not beta read.)
Moving to Texas was not the plan, or even the âblessingâ your mother claimed it would be. Being the one who took over your grandparents home after they moved to a seniors facility? Fantastic! Amazing, even. Leaving your job, friends, and boyfriend, back home? Horrible. Heart wrenching and annoying.Â
Austin, for the most part, was lonely. Long distance didnât end up working between you and your boyfriend, your friends just got busier with their jobs, and it wasnât like your parents could just drive 14 hours to see you every weekend. Co-workers were nice, but honestly who really wants to hang out with people you already spend 40 hours a week with? Maybe you were jaded, or picky, which was what your mother also claimed, or maybe your whole life was uprooted for what felt like no reason.
What you werenât picky about, was the view from your bedroom window. Youâre not a peeping tom, or a perv, but it isnât your fault that your dilf-y next door neighbor is so easy on the eyes.
No, moving to Austin was not a blessing, but Joel Miller was.
Joel was the neighborhood guy. Need an oil change? Joel. Need your fence fixed? Joel. Block party? Joelâs yard. Itâs like he doesnât know how to say no to anybody, that southern politeness deeper than the drawl that lies in his voice. When you had first moved here he had helped you move your couch through the door, all smiles and polite nods. He barely introduced himself before he was asking if you needed any help, and he had called you âyoung lady,â which made you giggle. Such a giving man, but of course he was. A single father to two daughters? âNoâ wasn't in his vocabulary.
Sometimes, you think if your dad was as good a father as Joel Miller was, maybe you wouldnât be fiending after him with such ferocity. Watching him with his two girls, Sarah and Ellie, was something that tugged your heartstrings no matter what. Sarah wasnât around a lot anymore, apparently she went away to a fancy college. You had helped her pack all her stuff into Joelâs truck, but quickly went inside when you saw him getting misty eyed, you didn't want to embarrass the poor guy. Ellie is younger than Sarah and still lives at home. Honestly, you didnât know much about her apart from the fact that she was adopted and that sheâs in high school. Sheâs always happy to chat, but sheâs also always going somewhere, which leaves Joel lonely sometimes.Â
Joel seems better suited for loneliness than you are though. His brother Tommy comes around pretty often, though they seem fairly opposite. Tommy truly is sweet, has always chatted with you during block parties (even if it may be for nefarious reasons when heâs had too many drinks,) but he looks like⊠a fuckboy. Without fail, every time he rolls up to Joelâs house, heâs blasting some shitty new country music and wearing Pit Viper sunglasses as he carefully parks his spotless truck. Despite their differences though, they get along just as well. Your summer evenings are often interrupted by the sound of their laughs and the crisp sound of the two cracking open some cold ones.Â
So why is it that when Fatherâs day rolls around, Joelâs driveway is empty?
You arenât watching on purpose, you just happen to glance over that way a lot. The only action you see from his house is Ellie leaving for her friend's house sometime after noon, like usual on a Sunday. No signs of Sarah or Tommy. Part of you figured that maybe Sarah would make the lengthy drive down from her school, or maybe that Tommy would show up at some point, but nobody does.Â
âNot creepy,â you assure yourself as you go upstairs to peer through your bedroom window to see if anyone is there. You could totally look through the kitchen window that directly faces his backyard, but you fear the day heâs looking right back at you.Â
Looking outside, you see nothing. Joelâs grey-blue truck sits unmoved in the driveway, his plants are watered though so you guess he came outside at some point. The thought makes you feel a bit sad, the image of Joel and his soft eyes watering the plants, whistling to himself and trying to tell himself it doesnât matter that nobody came. He probably really doesnât care at all, a lot of men arenât very sentimental or emotional about days like this, but you care.
Heâs a good man, a good father, and a good neighbor. Seeing him be underappreciated on what is basically his day is ticking you off for some stupid reason. When 3pm rolls around you decide that you have to do something for Joel, it feels wrong not to.Â
Which is how you end up in line for the register at Home Depot. You sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes racking your brain, trying to think of things that guys like, but came up with nothing. Joel is a contractor, so heâll probably find some use out of a 50 dollar Home Depot gift card, but it still feels too impersonal. Joel literally fixed your toilet when a date you took home broke the handle off the tank mid-vomit. Heâs too nice to just hand a stupid gift card with âHappy Fatherâs dayâ scrawled across the mini paper envelope. He deserves something thoughtful, something gentler than a gift card for (probably) his job.Â
âŠWhich is how you end up waiting in line for the register at the supermarket. You have a bouquet of flowers in your hand, with a Home Depot gift card shoved in your jacket pocket. It feels utterly ridiculous to give Joel Miller flowers, to pick out which colours you think heâd like and get the florist to wrap them up neatly with a bow, but you have a good reason. At some point in the past week you had seen a post about how a lot of men never receive flowers. It resurfaced in your head as you picked your brain again, making you wonder if Joel had ever received flowers. You know that he was married once, but that was when Sarah was little, itâd probably been 10 or even 15 years since he had any gestures like that made for him.
Not that this was for romance reasons. It was for fatherâs-appreciation-day reasons. Of course.
Maybe you shouldnât be so invested in your neighbors emotions and life, but itâs too late now. You carefully pack away the flowers in the back seat of your car, snuggling the gift card into the ribbon that holds the flowers together.Â
â
And if you thought that standing in line at Home Depot, or at the supermarket was bad, itâs so much worse trying to work up the courage to knock on Joelâs front door. You canât figure out how to hold this bouquet of flowers behind your back without dropping them, so you just awkwardly knock on his door with one hand, flowers in the other. At least the gift card is managing to stay in place where you tucked it, but you wish you told the florist not to write his name in cursive.
Your repeating thoughts of âIs this weird? Am I weird?â are interrupted when he opens the door.
Joel looks⊠normal. He doesnât look sad like you thought he might, if anything he looks more confused at you being there. His brown hair is tousled slightly and heâs wearing pajama pants, even though he smells fresh. Joelâs eyes meet yours and he tilts his head quietly, as if waiting for you to go on, but what do you even say? Oh shit thatâs rightâ
âHappy fatherâs day,â your voice comes out shyly. You shove the flowers at him a little abruptly and he blinks in surprise, accepting them. Itâs awkward for a second, the way his eyebrows shoot up as he notices the cursive lettering of his name written on the envelope.
âTheseâre for me, darlinâ?â He asks curiously, still looking over the flowers.
A stammering of âumâ and âyeahâ leave your mouth pretty quickly and he smiles. Youâre pretty sure he says thank you, but you just kind of stare at him awkwardly. A beat passes between the two of you as he admires the gift. âYou uhâ You donât think of me as your dad, do you?â Joel asks. Oh fuck. You hadnât thought about the fact that maybe that was what he would take away from this. All of your thoughts had been consumed by worries that heâd think you were trying to hit on him, but here he was thinking that you thought of him as a father figure. Which you didnât. Your dad is fine, no need to replace him, at least not at this point.Â
âNo, no. Oh my godâ Sorry,â You choke out, half laughing. Itâs a quiet moment on the porch for a second, just the two of you standing there. Maybe you should explain your thought process.
âItâs just that youâre a dad and likeâ not to sound like a weirdo freak but nobodyâs been at your house all day and it made me sad for you. Not that I pity you but,â your voice trails off as you fear youâve made this worse. Joel seems a bit surprised at this, mouth opening slightly but then transitioning to a soft smile.
âAnd what if I told you that I wanted everyone tâleave me alone today?â He asks you slyly. And oh god, that is so much worse than him mistaking this gesture for flirting or pity. You never would have thought that maybe the guy who does everything for everyone probably just wants to be left the hell alone for a gift. Your heart drops in your chest, taking all the blood in your face with it. Embarrassment floods you with a force you didnât realize possible, stuttered apologies leaving your lips as fast as you can. Joel shakes his head, laughing quietly as you sputter âsorryâ repeatedly, like a broken sprinkler.
âIâm jokinâ, sweetheart. I appreciate this,â he says. The crows' feet by his eyes shouldnât be as charming as they are, but combined with that rumbling laugh and smile⊠he could get away with anything. He plucks the Home Depot gift card from the ribbon and huffs a laugh, like heâs impressed.
Well thatâs⊠something? It made him smile right? Maybe feeling bad for Joel was better than feeling stupid in front of him. You step back, towards the stairs of his porch, but he shakes his head. âYou were really this worried?â He asks, admiring the flowers. That makes your heart bloom in your chest, seeing how much he really liked this. Joel didnât seem much like a flower guy, but you saw the way he kept his yard neat, with tulips in the spring and his lawn trimmed squarely. Shyly, you nod in response to his question. It feels silly to worry for him like this, you donât know if he considers you a friend the way he is in your head.
âSâawful sweet,â he tells you. Something about his presence is so big, a balance of hospitality and intimidation all at once. Maybe itâs his big stature, broad shoulders and thick arms, a body built for work. Or his voice, the strong timbre of it, humbled in southern twang. Joel is a force of warmth, a heat that canât be contained. His heart shines through his golden skin, forcing whoever he looks at to have a spotlight. Thatâs where the intimidation lies, in how he makes you feel like thereâs a halo over your head, all his attention right there.Â
Heâs so hot you donât even want him to look at you.
But there he is anyways, smiling as he admires the gift again, dorkily leaning in to dramatically huff the flowers. His mouth is moving but you're deafened by the sensation of a blush on your face. You thought it was just a silly little crush, because who wouldnât find Joel attractive. Heâs handsome, hard working, and just an all around traditional man. But this attraction⊠It's like your crush on him has given you tinnitus. His lips are moving and you arenât registering the words. Wait shit, heâs speakingâ
âDarlinâ?â Joel calls. He looks at you, head tilted, and still fucking smiling. The way his eyes glimmer, the crows feet that squeeze them into a smile⊠Why is it so hard to hear him?
âI asked if you wanted to come in,â he repeats.Â
â
Youâve never been inside Joelâs house, but youâd never thought about it either. Being in it, now, it all makes sense. Photos of his daughters are framed everywhere, their achievements plastered on the walls in shines of silver and gold. Itâs hard not to imagine Joel hunched over his kitchen counter, tediously cutting pictures out to place them in frames. He was only an idea before, an idea of a man, and now he has become one wordlessly. All it took was stepping inside his house, smelling him everywhere. Life dances in the jackets that are tossed over dining room chairs, the toolbelt dumped by the shoe rack at the door. The picture of Joel you held in your mind begins to come alive, the movements in the details of his life stealing your breath. He is more than a good man, he is a great one.
And now, you have to strike up a conversation with him.
Joel grunts as he sits down on the couch beside you, placing two glasses of water down. He places his glass in front of the can of beer sitting on a coaster, distorting the label to nothing but warped blue and red. Is he hiding that he was drinking? Why is that cute?Â
A pause hushes both of you as Joel gets comfortable, sitting down. Heâs paused a show, but it just looks like it was whatever movie was playing on the local TV channel.Â
âYou must be so proud of them,â you say, eyes glazing over the pictures of Sarah and Ellie. You can tell exactly which photos were taken with a camera and which were taken with his phone. One picture of Ellie, maybe when she was 13 or 14, is from her soccer tournament. Sheâs smiling, holding up a ribbon for MVP, and Joelâs thumb is in the bottom corner. Itâs strange to realize that Joel has basically been a father twice over, but also admirable.Â
He talks for a little while, rambling about Sarah and her time up at college, and also how Ellie has been doing better in school this year. You always had a feeling Ellie was a bit feistier than Sarah was, but to hear how proud Joel is of her anyways makes your heart flutter. His love for them was so unconditional, so why werenât they here today? You ask him, a half smile crossing his lips as he hears your question.
âSarah called me âround lunchtime, one of them video calls. Had lunch with my girl and got to catch up with her. Sheâs so damn busy, yâknow that? Always studying and,â he catches his breath, realizing heâs blabbing again. A reddish tone creeps up his neck in embarrassment.
âPoint is, she called. Was nice of her, I miss her lots,â He finishes quietly.
Your eyebrow raises. He didnât mention Ellie. Joel huffs.
âIâm 99% sure sheâs over at Dinaâs making me a gift, but itâs fine that she forgot. Iâve been on her ass about homework, fairâs fair.â
He looks cute when heâs begrudging, one side of his mouth sliding to the side so part of his cheek puffs over it. You nod, making a comment in response. The conversation is so smooth you forget what youâre saying as soon as youâre laughing.Â
This is easier than you thought it would be. Joelâs always been friendly, obviously, but you just assumed he would be more closed off than this. Even if itâs just rambling about his daughters, or Tommy, or the jobs heâs been managing and how annoying his clients are, itâs something more. Something more than the passing glances and small conversation youâve had before.
You talk a bit about your own life, how tough the move to Texas was, how lonely it can be. Joel doesnât seem as receptive to this, but thereâs an understanding in his eyes that you can feel. Heâs a tough clam to slide your knife into, and you doubt youâll feel his tongue today. The eager blabber he has for his family and career doesnât extend to himself, and it seems youâve hit a wall with him. Or maybe youâve hit too close to home. âSorry,â you say, feeling a little weird.Â
This whole day has felt like youâre pulling against a lead Joel wasnât even holding in the first place, like youâre always doing too much. But just like the rest of the day, he isnât holding the rope around your neck. Heâs surging forward with reassurances blooming out of his mouth, Texas sweet to the bone.Â
He shakes his head, telling you that itâs fine, he gets it. A joke about being a single father, a smile directed at you, consoling. Vaporub for your congested anxieties.
âIâm sorry darlin,â Joel starts, and fuck is he sending you home? Is that your cue to leave? You did too much, he was just being nice.
â-- I didnât even offer you water when you came in. Dâyou need somethinâ to drink?â He asks.
God, doesnât he get tired of being this nice? Your neighbors warned you that he was a grump when you first moved here, dirty liars.Â
âOh, sure, uh. Water would be good, thanks,â you reply.
Youâre only half paying attention to the grunt he lets out when he gets up the first time, your eyes busying themselves with the way his cotton tee stretches across the muscled planes of his back. But, after he hands you the glass of water and groans when he sinks back into the couch, you notice.Â
You down the glass like youâre parched, but really your mouth just needs to be full right now. The sound of his groans are bouncing in your ear canals as your neck flushes red with each gulp of water. If he notices, he doesnât say anything.
âBad back?â You ask after you catch your breath.Â
He hums in response, talking about how it comes with the job he has. âAll that lifting in my early yearsâŠâ as if heâs a thousand years old. Joel mentions that heâs been to the chiropractor a few times, thanks to Sarahâs begging and pleading.
âI donât know, I think itâs gimmicky. They get you on the table and the guy feelinâ you up acts like heâs Christ himself,â Joel says, rolling his eyes.Â
The idea of Joel, shirtless and face down, grumbling as some guy works his hands over his skin. The idea of Joel groaning in relief as someone else works those knots out, God you wish you were a chiropractor, you wish you could put your hands all over him.
Greed hardens over your mind like a shell, and the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.
âI couldâ I could help, maybe. My dad used to have a pretty bad back and I kinda figured out how to work knots out.â
Joelâs eyes widen, looking over to you with mild interest. For the first time today, around Joel, you donât feel like youâve overstepped. In fact he looks interested in this offer. A beat passes between the two of you, hesitation caught in his throat it seems.
Itâs probably super fucked up in his head, his younger neighbor coming over and offering to rub him down. But your mind is still greedy, coated in thoughts of his skin under your palms, and that southern rumble thatâs given you dilf earworms.
He looks like heâs about to say no when you speak again.
âYou donât even have to lay down, or take your shirt off. Could just lift it up,â you offer.Â
Joel still looks like heâs going to say no, the left side of his mouth raising to make up some reason. You canât let him, not when youâve been this ballsy. Walking out of here now would make this infinitely more awkward.
âItâs your day, Joel,â you supply him with a reason to say yes. The reason might be silly, might be a last minute add-on to his fatherâs day, but who cares.
Apparently not Joel, since he pulls his shirt up to his shoulders, the fabric scrunching around his broad frame.
â
You feel a little stupid, slotted behind Joel on the couch. The two of you are basically shoved up against one another, Joel wriggling to give you access to his lower back. He hasnât said anything yet, no reassurance that this backrub is any good. You think youâre doing well, you feel the knots loosening. It might be better this way, him not making noise. The groan you heard earlier was more than enough to push you into a frenzy.
Your hands work further down, where his waist begins to pull in. Looking closer you can see where the softness of his tummy is, a fatherly badge of honor. Continuing your movements, you gently press your thumbs into the flesh there, and earn yourself Joelâs first noise.
Not a grunt, groan, complaint, or cuss. A whimper.
Your voice clashes with his, both of you talking over each other accidentally.
âAre you okayââ you ask as his voice flounders again, a âDarlin--â leaving him out of his own volition.
Pulling your hands away you begin to pull his shirt back down his back, mortified. How could you claim you were good at this and then hurt his back more? Joelâs been through enough today.
âPlease donât stop,â Joelâs voice grabs your brain again, forcing your focus.
Heâs sliding his shirt up again, just by rolling his shoulders as he hunches over, waiting for you to continue. His face is in his hands, and his ears are pink. Itâs the first time heâs asked you for anything tonight, you canât refuse him.Â
Placing your hands back where they were, you begin to massage again. It seems like his lower back is the main problem, with the way heâs grunting into his palms. As your hands work away the aches he begins to swear to himself.Â
âFuck,â he grunts as your thumbs dig deep, soothing a pain he hasnât felt eased in years.Â
This is good. Pride spreads in your chest, knowing he feels better. Your hands work away, and you get laser focused on untangling these massive knots in his back. Eventually you break your focus, switching to softer rubs and small scratches up and down his back.
Tearing your eyes away from his skin, you realize the throw pillow that was beside you earlier is gone. The yellow corner of the cushion peeks at you from where you saw Joelâs belly earlier, over his lap. A thick forearm is crushing it into himself there, the veins in his neck pulsing.Â
Flames lick up your face, onto the tips of your ears and down your neck, heating your spine. Is he aroused right now? âJoel?â You ask quietly.Â
He shakes his head, voice tight.
âIâm sorry, I donât know whatâs wrong with me. Justâ it just feels nice,â he admits.
Your hands pause. Okay, so heâs admitted heâs hard. What do you do now? Keep rubbing his back and blueball the poor guy? On Father's day? That seems mean, and awkward. Everything about this is awkward though, so it couldnât really get worse.
âI could⊠I could help it feel better,â you offer meekly.
Youâre not scared of a dick. You arenât. Your voice is quiet because it seems like he is horribly ashamed of this, probably feeling guilty.
Joel rubs a hand over his face.
âYou donât have to, you can just go,â he says, but his voice betrays him. Need is sewn in his tone, a desperation.
Part of you wonders how long itâs been since someone touched him like this as you reach around, palming the front of his jeans. The hiss he lets out tells you itâs been awhile. How wrong that is, an attractive man like Joel being forced to get his own rocks off.
Getting the button and fly of his jeans down is difficult when you canât see, even worse when your brain is making up images of Joel masturbating. Heâs so shy when heâs being touched, does he bite his sheets? Bite his other fist in the shower? Poor boy, he deserves this.Â
His hips lift off the couch to help you shove his jeans and briefs down. Joelâs bare ass slides against you and he cringes. âIs it okay if you donât look?â He asks.Â
You hate that he seems so insecure, but youâre not going to push him. Nodding into his skin, you press your face to his back, resting your cheek near the blade of his shoulder. Heâs heavy in your palm, warm skin with veins your fingers can trace over.
Telling him that heâs big feels redundant, youâre sure he knows that about himself. Neither of you seem very sure about what youâre doing, the shuddering breaths from his chest matching your hesitant grasp around his cock.Â
âAre you okay?â You ask again.
Joel nods into his hand, asking you to please touch him.Â
Admittedly, itâs a dry hand job, but Joel doesnât seem to mind. The flick of your wrist is fluid, even if your arm is cramping from being wrapped around him. Joel lets out these little noises, grunts and whines. His hand is covering his eyes while the other one rests lightly on your forearm, like he wants to know that youâre still there.
Need is exuding from him, making his desperation take over his need to really give a shit about how submissive he might be appearing. He shudders particularly hard as you squeeze on the upstroke, voice choking.
âShitâ shit, please,â he gasps, âplease can I spit in your hand?âÂ
Itâs a little surprising, but again, you canât refuse him. You say âyeahâ into his skin, closing your eyes as you feel him spit into your hand. Itâs filthy, his saliva on you as he guides your hand to jerk him off. Joel uses your palm to slick the head of his dick, teasing himself on your skin.
Itâs the first time youâve seen him be selfish all day. Part of you wants to call him a good boy, but part of you also knows this might not be normal for Joel. Hell, this isnât normal for you either.Â
Instead, you ask him if itâs good. A rasped âyes,â emanates from him between a low groan and a curse. Your head lifts from his back as he begins to shudder, his orgasm creeping closer. Listening to him is so good, youâre a mess between your legs, where your core nudges his ass.
Without a thought, you sink your teeth into the meat between his shoulder and his neck. Not enough pressure to bruise or hurt, just to let him know youâre there. There was no intention to push him over the edge, but your little bite does. A guttural groan is forced out of him as he comes into your hand, stringing sticky between your fingers.Â
âFuckâ fuck Iâm sorry, oh my god,â he pants, shivering.Â
Your head is shaking again, reassuring him that it was okay, that heâs okay.Â
âItâll wash off,â you joke, feeling the stick of him on you.Â
â
Joel does help you wash it off, once heâs done redressing. Heâs clingy though, arms around your waist and chin hooked over your shoulder as you wash your hands in his kitchen sink. Heâs definitely sleepy, eyes blinking slowly when you peek at him while you dry your hands.
You step close to him, your damp hands meeting his dry ones. The awkward spirit of the evening has been killed off, his shyness melted away.
âUsually Iâd offer to return the favor but⊠I have to pick up Ellie from her friendâs house now. Iâm really sorry, darlinâ,â he admits.
Shaking your head, you push away the negative feeling that surfaces. How are you supposed to go back to being neighbors after that? But also, what did you really expect?
Joel leads you to the door, legs a bit shakey. A smug feeling joins the negative ones in your chest at that, but itâs not enough.Â
âI really do apologize,â Joel says again, âbut this just gives me an opportunity to see you again. If youâd like, obviously. I think I owe ya dinner.âÂ
And there he is, not holding your lead but reassuring your heart. He wants to see you again.
Your eyes meet his in the dim light of the hallway, catching those sweet eyes in your own. He looks so hopeful, so apologetic too.
âIâd like that, but you donât owe me anything. Itâs Fatherâs day,â you point out.Â
Joel rolls his eyes. This Fatherâs day excuse is a little overused between the two of you now, but itâs still cute to him since youâre the one saying it. He opens the door for you, slipping his own boots on and grabbing his keys.
âFine,â Joel says, âbut when Pretty Neighbor day rolls around, you let me know.
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