Invisible String
Chapter 1
pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!reader
series summary: what happens when your blind date turns out to be your dad's friend? what if you catch feelings for him but he feels guilty?
chapter summary: your favourite restaurant sets up a game of blind dates and you secretly apply, not aware of what will happen.
word count: 2.4k
warnings: 18+, dad's best friend joel, age gap (Joel is in his early 40s and reader in her mid 20s), smut, unprotected p in v, spanking, pet names. let me know if I forgot anything!
author's note: hello everyone! this is my first dbf!joel fic and I hope you'll like it! let me know what you think with reblogs and comments, thank you! comment below if you want to be added to the taglist.
You nervously flatten the fabric of the black silky dress you’re wearing, drying the sweaty feeling on your hands, as you try to swallow the invisible knot that you feel in the back of your throat, while you wait for the waitress to walk you to your table.
This is probably the dumbest decision you’ve ever made, but you blamed it on the loneliness you were feeling and the few wine glasses that you downed when applying to take part in a blind date “game” your favorite restaurant set up.
It was a casualty that you found out, you were there to pick up the food you ordered when you spotted the small squared white sheet of paper on the counter, the words spelled out in big red letters.
Blind Dates Rodeo, Saturday at 8pm.
Send your application by email to the address below and wear your best clothes, your mystery person is waiting for you.
You chuckled to yourself while going back to where you were standing, placing the piece of paper in one of the pockets in your shoulder bag.
Your mom certainly would stop bothering you with annoying questions about your love life if you told her you were going on a date, or even better, bringing home someone in the future.
It’s actually been two years since your last relationship and you are just taking time for yourself, focusing on your growth and well being.
Your dad, on the other hand, was not so worried about this aspect of your life. He wanted you to be happy, he didn’t care if you managed to do that with a man by your side or on your own.
And you, well, you were focused on your freshly new career, the internship at the offices of a well known fashion magazine was taking taking up most of your time but you always felt a void caused by the lack of something, or better someone, when coming home, your parents house, from work.
You felt your cheeks become warmer, they blushed while you were filling the email to the restaurant, as if somebody was in your room watching you fill the application.
The light coming from the screen of your phone was reflected in your eyes and when you pressed “send”, in the comfort of your bed, you couldn’t help but start to fantasize about who your mistery date would be.
Will he be taller? Shorter? Blue or brown eyes? You hope he’s funny, but not too full of himself. Humble and not conceited, kind and… just a person you would enjoy going on a date with.
You don’t feel any pressure, actually a bit maybe, but if this date won’t turn out to be what you expect, that’s just how things are supposed to go and you’ll find the right one for sure sooner or later.
The days prior to Saturday go by pretty slowly, exactly like when you’re waiting for something to come so bad that days feel like an eternity. You have to admit you’re pretty excited about your blind date, nervous at times, but still happy that you applied. You even treated yourself to some new clothes on Friday after leaving the office. It was mainly because you wanted something cute to wear the next night, driven by the desperation you felt the late afternoon before when opening your wardrobe and finding, to be precise, fucking nothing you felt like wearing the next day.
Now, Saturday at 8 pm, you are cursing yourself for applying to this damn game of blind dates.
You feel terrified and anxious. The mirror in your bathroom probably unhooked itself from the wall, tired of how many times you checked yourself before leaving the house.
You loved your hair down, lightly wavy. You went to your room, paced around for a minute, then went back to the bathroom and totally hating what you were seeing in the reflection.
You were feeling insecure, too. The little voice in your head appearing from time to time, telling you that whatever you did you were not going to look good enough.
And yes, you were worried but you were not going to be late.
You collect all the strength and courage you have in your body and jump in your car, locking the doors in case you are going to regret what you are doing and drive off to the restaurant.
It was probably the most nerve-racking fifteen minute drive of your life, even your radio was off. Bad decision, your thoughts took over and spilled out of your head to overflow the cockpit of your car.
Now you’re standing right at the entrance of the restaurant, right after making your presence known to the workers. Nobody prepared you for how embarrassed you would feel, waiting among other people, who are well aware of the reason why you are here.
Some of them are waiting to be seated, like you, and others are already waiting at the table in the dining room, you can catch a glimpse of them from where you are.
Walking after the waitress directed to your table, you sense your legs might fail you and your heart as well.
You stop when you reach your destination, the waitress offering you a sympathetic smile before disappearing among the tables.
Your mystery man is sitting with his back towards you. His neck, covered with the slightly curly ends of his hair, is the only visible trait you can see, besides his broad shoulders. He doesn’t seem to notice your presence.
You lower your lids for a split second, gathering anything useful you can inside of you to break the silence and introduce yourself to your date.
You make a step to his right, protruding your hand to shake his, displaying the most sincere and beautiful smile on your face.
Your date’s brown eyes spot you and his most sincere and beautiful smile disappears from his face almost at the same time as your does.
“Joel?” You can’t control the nervous chuckle coming out from you, covering your mouth with your index and middle finger as you start choosing the right words for an explanation and hide your embarrassment.
“Shit, I’m so, so sorry. I-“ you shake your head. You can’t believe you’ve mistaken the table he’s sitting at with the one you’re probably assigned to, the one right beside it. There’s no way one of your dad’s closest friends is your blind date.
“I’m here for, uh..—“ you take a deep breath, “There’s this blind date game the restaurant organized and.. Well, I applied for it but probably got taken to the wro-“
“Me too.” Joel simply said, he probably and apparently figured it out quicker than you.
Joel Miller is your blind date.
Your dad’s friend, his mate for football games and fishing. The same Joel Miller who your mom would invite over for lunches or dinners almost every week. Whose fingers accidentally grazed your fingers, or thighs, more than once and sent jolts of electricity through your body.
“They probably made a mistake, I’m sorry, I’ll talk to them and t-“ you are about to walk away but the same girl who walked you to the table seems to notice the confused look on both of your faces, so she quickly comes up.
After checking her tablet on which all the matches are laid out, she assures you that you’re both at the right table.
“We’re both here for the same reason, I don’t think this is a mistake.” You can’t decipher his tone, but your anxiety convinces you that he’s probably disappointed his blind date turned out to be you.
“Oh.” It escapes from you without warning, and there’s nothing left to do for you besides sitting on the chair opposite to Joel and fully realize that you’re having a date with the man you often dreamed about.
You can’t deny his physical attractiveness, neither can you say that he was not the main protagonist in some of your secret fantasies. And how could you blame yourself?
Plus, he’s smart, funny, caring and kind and all these things made him so desirable. You were a witness of how he used these qualities with your dad, always being there for him and helping him.
He’s just a dream.
“It can’t get more embarrassing than this.” You whisper and you thought your voice was low enough for only you to hear but Joel chuckled amused, “’S fine, sweetheart. Just pretend it’s one of the many dinners at your house.” and with that said, the evening passes quite quickly.
You conversed about your and his job, hobbies, movies, books, whatever exists in this world.
He congratulated himself on you freshly new job, always knew you were a step ahead of others he said, and that made your heart skip a beat.
Talking to Joel is so easy, it’s like talking to an old friend. It’s not that you didn’t hold conversations with him when he was over, but it’s different. Your parents are not around, you can let your thoughts flow around without being worried of judgement.
You feel as light as a feather, reaching the end of the dinner. You haven’t felt this good in a while, as if going on a date with your dad’s friend and talking about anything, even silly things, was the key to any problem in the world.
Your car’s tyre has a puncture? You can’t solve a math problem? You dropped a glass and broke it?
Go on a date with Joel Miller and everything will solve on its own.
You almost get annoyed when he insists on paying for you both, ‘M sorry, Miss I’m independent now he jokes, keeping the door open for you to exit the restaurant.
Joel is a step before you as he walks you to your car and that’s when you have the chance to check him out. He’s wearing a black shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the first two buttons out of their holes. The black trousers he’s wearing perfectly wrap his muscular thighs, his big hands covered in their pockets.
You can’t deny there was, and still is, some kind of tension between you two throughout the whole meal. Stolen glances, him focusing some seconds too much on your lips as you trapped a cherry between them to eat it. Or when his fingers lingered against your fingers while passing you salt.
There’s no way have imagined it. What if you were the main protagonist of his fantasies too?
It’s not just now, but the past year too. There’s been a glint in his eyes whenever his focus was on you, a gleam of adoration mixed with guilt and bad, bad guy. His smiles thrown at you through a crowd of people at family gatherings, he was invited too because he’s like family your dad always says.
He has always been interested in your studies, what you were up to, your opinions on topics brought up at dinner. It always seemed like he wanted to know more.
That can’t be, you’re his buddy’s daughter. He’s too good, too loyal, too honest to get caught in this. And you’re younger than him.
When you get to your car, the same embarrassment felt at the restaurant fills the air. Should you hug him after thanking him for the great night? Kiss him on the cheek? A pat on the shoulder?
“Thank you, Joel. I had an amazing night and-“
“Thank you,” he starts talking at the same time you do, causing you both to erupt in a light and contained laugh. The pad of his thumb slightly scratches the end of his mustache, the smile adorning his face, directed to you, does not disappear.
He then drops his gaze to the ground, contemplating it for a couple of seconds. He shakes his head and almost chuckles again, Fuck it he whispers and with two big steps he closes the distance between your bodies. His veiny hands are planted on both sides of your face and he traps your soft lips in a needy but gentle kiss, not giving you time to even blink.
No need to say your heart almost broke your ribcage, hitting against it as if wanting to get out. Your fingers quickly find the curly hair at the nape of his neck, pulling it once your tongues touch.
“Fuck, Joel” you whimper, as his face is deep between your legs, your body laying on the backseats of your car.
Your fingers are tangled in his chocolate brown hair, his mustache grazing the soft skin of your folds as he moves his tongue up and down, then in circles before tapping the tip of it at your entrance, inserting it.
“Taste so fuckin’ good.” Joel lets you know and you whimper from his warm breath against your centre.
It doesn’t take you long at all to come the first time, wetting his beard with your spent, as you try to set your breath to a normal pace.
And you don’t think about the consequences of your actions when Joel is sitting in the middle seat, his pants lowered to his ankles and you, slowly but needy, lower yourself on him, engulfing his cock in your warm folds.
You are straddling his legs, while his hands secure the end of your dress to your waist.
“You’re takin’ me so good, baby.” His long sighs make company to your moans and whimpers of his name, “Who would’a thought this pretty pussy could take my cock so good.”
Joel’s hands are now on your asscheeks as he guides your movements on him, slapping the right one every time he would touch the spongy spot inside you with his tip.
He bites your jaw close to your chin to suppress some of his moans. At some point he places his hands firmly on your hips, pushing into you harder.
“Look at me, babygirl. Jus’ look at me,” he fixes his eyes on yours, making your foreheads collide. The moment feels way more intense, you grip his shoulders to help you stabilize.
“You feel so good, you’re.. ah” you whimper his name again and again, like a one-word poetry.
It doesn’t feel wrong at all, knowing how your dad’s friend’s hands feel around your throat as he praises you, while pushing his cock far into you.
And it’s way better than any of your forbidden dreams about Joel.
