#sluttified!joel

[toxicanonymity]

Silence can never be bought, only rented.

pt. 2 of 6, 2.5k | dbf!Joel x fem!reader | 18+

picks up after Pt 1 . Story Master List

Joel Miller List

“You’re right, it’s gettin’ hot." he starts unbuckling his belt and your heart skips a beat. As he pulls his tight jeans down over his bulge, his boxers start to come with them, revealing a small, circular scar, then a sliver of neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair. The glimpse makes your knees weak.

Thank you @dark-scape for the mini mood boards!

Warnings/notes: no-outbreak AU. Reader confident in string bikini, there may be more to joel than meets the eye. Legal age gap. Masturbation. cumshot. Kinda dom reader. i don't know all triggers, not used to detailed warnings in my usual fandoms sorry

NEXT: PART 3

Catch up on Part 1

-----

It's June in Texas.  You packed your swimsuit this weekend.  You don't know why Joel would wear a jacket in this weather anyway.  Hopefully he doesn't fuck your stepmother while he's breaking it off.  In the big scheme of things, one more time wouldn't make much of a difference. It's more about the fact that he's your property now.  

-

Back at your friend's place, you plug in your phone across the room while you settle in to watch another movie.  Her new sound system is badass, so you don't hear it when your phone rings, but she does. 

She’s a lot closer to it than you are, so you tell her she can send it to voicemail.  She leans over and looks at the screen. 

“Joel." Her eyes widen. "DILF Joel??”

You scrunch your face up.  “Gross, he's like 50.”   

“Okay, what does non-DILF Joel want?”  She rightfully uses finger quotes around "non." In the back of your mind, you always knew Joel was hot.  It turns out, you had no idea.  

You sigh,  “Probably just checking on me while my Dad is away.”  You're tempted to tell her–at least the part where Joel is fucking your stepmother–but for now, you don't.  You enjoy being the only one who knows and could ruin both of them.

“So why not answer?” 

“Guess I just don’t feel like talking.” 

She looks at you sympathetically.  She knows why you came home this weekend.  You needed a change of scenery after things got messy with a guy you were seeing.  “I get it,” she says.  “But I promise you’re gonna be over him before you know it.  Then on to the next,” she smiles.  

If only it were that easy.  You really don’t feel like going back and facing life.  Technically Chad is right, you never defined your relationship or agreed to be exclusive.  But you spent so much time together, and he said he loved you.  You know he’s a chode and not at all worth your tears.  You just hate feeling so powerless.  On the plus side, you've barely thought about Chad at all since the moment you first saw Joel's truck this weekend. 

Your phone dings.  Your friend looks at it.  

“Who leaves voicemail?” she asks. It dings again and her face gets serious.  "Oh, shit.  You should really call him. He said Trouble."

"That's just what he calls me."  You suppress a smirk at the nominal determinism. 

"Oh, yeah. Ugh. I hate that I'm gonna miss the HOG barbecue this year. " 

HOG. . . Hot Old Guy.  She really tickles herself pink with that.  Your dad and Joel cook out at Joel's pool every independence day with a couple of other friends, and you normally bring her.  

Your phone dings again.  She looks at the screen and side-eyes it. 

"What?" You ask 

"You should block Chad." 

You feel a rush of satisfaction followed by shame as you eagerly go over and look at the phone.  

Chad: miss u already. 

In a way, it’s the best possible message, but seeing the dumb way he writes, your shame is replaced by anger.  

"God what an asshole," you fume. You don't respond. 

-

You finish watching the movie, and eventually start catching up on Joel's texts. Come out and talk to me for one minute.  A pit forms in your stomach. He was here? Are you that predictable? 

When it's time to leave and you get to your car, there's a note.  It's the same one you left on Joel's truck, the one that said You're sick. There's a response scrawled under your writing: 

You have no idea.  

Your heart races as you look around the street.   How dare he? And why are your cheeks burning?

You start driving back to your apartment. It’s well under two hours away, it's still afternoon, and you don’t know what you'll do with the day when you get back.  Laundry, you guess.  You can hardly bear the thought of being back there alone with your thoughts. 

-

Instead of 35 South to San Antonio, you find yourself on Joel's street.  Joel is a successful contractor and has a nice house.  Comically high-security, too.  Today, the gate is already disarmed, so you don't have to put in the code or talk to him.   You park in his big wraparound driveway, grab your bag, and head around back.  The pool gate is disarmed, too. You enter the code to the pool house door.  

When you walk in, the air conditioning blasts on and it's freezing.  Kind of obnoxious in a state with a power grid crisis.  You throw your stuff down on the big couch, not bothering to go any further.  You strip down to your underwear, ass facing the window.  Then you put your swimsuit cover-up over your underwear.  Feigning modesty, you take your underwear out from under the cover-up and replace it with your two-piece. 

When you come out, Joel is sitting in a zero gravity lounge chair across the pool in front of the big glass windows of his house.   When you see him, your heart skips a beat, even though it’s no surprise.  It’s like when you’ve been thinking about someone so much they practically become a celebrity in your mind, even if they don’t deserve it.  

You bring your bag out to the deck and sit across the pool from him. He’s wearing the same tight, blue t-shirt and jeans. Now he has on Ray Bans and flip flops instead of boots.

You slather your sunscreen on as he watches.  He doesn't bother pretending not to watch.  You slip your hands inside the cups of your bikini top, lotioning up your breasts.  He adjusts himself, which sends a tingling rush to your core.  

-

Once your sunscreen is dry, you wade into the pool.  You walk around aimlessly, then swim over to his side, keeping your head above water.  When you get to the edge, you rest your forearms on the deck, then put your head down on the crook of your arm and float your legs behind you.  

“Come to give me my jacket?” he asks. 

“I don’t know how you’re wearing jeans, much less a jacket." You lift your head to look at him.

“You’re right, it’s gettin’ hot." he starts unbuckling his belt and your heart skips a beat.  

He stands up, and as he's pulling his tight jeans down over his bulge, his boxers start to come with them, revealing a small, circular scar, then a sliver of neatly trimmed salt and pepper hair.  The glimpse makes your knees weak.  He pulls the elastic waistband up and leaves the boxers on.  He sits down again and crosses his ankles.

You ask, “How’d it go?”

“Oh, about how you’d expect.”

“How long were you fucking her?”

“Does it matter?”

“You’re gonna tell me everything I ask.”

“Few months.  Look, Trouble, I’m human at best.  She came onto me.”

“Knew you’d say that.” 

“What if I could prove it?”

You don’t say anything.  He takes out his phone and scrolls for a while, then brings it to the edge of the pool.  You watch his heavy quads quake with each step but avert your eyes while he bends his knees.  You have no interest in seeing his balls or anyone else’s.  His boxers tighten around his muscular thighs as he sits down and lowers his feet into the pool right next to you.  

“There,” he says, handing you his phone.  You can barely see in the sunlight and don’t really care who initiated it anyway.

“Why don’t you just get a girlfriend?” you ask. 

“You wanna set me up?” he smiles.  “Got any single friends?”

“Why don’t you ask Sarah? She’s older than me.”

He grabs his chest like you shot him. Sweat is blotching his softwash t-shirt already.

You hand his phone back.  

"There's one inside for you," he says. "It's on the counter." He gestures through the window. 

"One what?"

"iPhone pro.  Since you can't seem to answer whatever piece of crap you're using." 

"What do I need an iphone pro for?" 

"They didn't have the regular one in blue." 

Your favorite color is a nice touch, but an iPhone isn't going to make this all go away.  

-

"How’s it goin’ with what’s his name?”

“Chad? It’s not.” You hate him for bringing up Chad. You harden your face, but it isn't convincing. 

Joel nods regretfully and there's a long moment of silence.  

“You’re better than him, Trouble."

You don't say anything. 

"Shit, you can have any guy you want.”  

You can't see his eyes behind his shades, but something in his voice tells you how hungrily he's looking at you.  

You still don't say anything. 

Joel stretches his leg and the top of his foot grazes your quad, then your inner thigh.  All your blood rushes to your loins.  You don't move.  He strokes your other inner thigh with the arch of his foot, getting a little higher with each pass.  A tent forms in his boxers and he adjusts himself again.  

“See what you do to guys?” The top of his foot brushes your crotch and you throb.  When he tries to slip a toe inside the fabric, you float out of reach. 

“You’re not a guy, you're a grown man.” 

"Exactly. And he's just a guy."

"A grown man and a pervert." A wave of anger hits you when you remember your stepmother. "And apparently you'll fuck anything."

If he's still listening, he ignores it.  

-

“God damn.  Look at you.”  He shamelessly palms himself over his boxers and suddenly his body is the only thing on your mind again:  The way his naked ass flexed while he looked at you.  The length of his cock slamming into her when he came.  And now it's right there for your taking.  Your core churns needily, slickening itself for what it desperately wants.  Too bad he doesn't deserve it. 

“Yeah. . . ” Your hands slowly reach behind your back to unfasten your top as you sink down into the water. "Look at me," you echo as you take the halter over your head. 

You lie back with your nipples above the water line, lazily floating and barely pushing yourself around in the water, watching him watch you.  

He takes a deep breath and his lips part.  He digs the heel of his palm into his boxers. You grip the deck with one hand.  You hover just far away enough that he can't touch you.  He picks up his phone, swipes it, puts it down. He exhales through pursed lips and adjusts himself again.

"Take it out," you tell him, then lean back,  jutting your tits into the air again.

 "Yes ma'am," he growls. 

He reaches into his boxers and holds his hard cock with the tip pointed toward you. 

"The whole thing." You nod at it.  

He pulls the fabric back. 

"Now take your hands away."

"God almighty," he groans as he complies. He sits back with his hands on the pool deck.  

Big mistake if your goal is to stay in control. This is going to take more restraint than you thought. 

"Take off your sunglasses," you demand. 

The sky is getting cloudy enough. He complies. 

It’s the only cock you’ve ever seen that actually makes you salivate. Thick, slightly tapered, circumcised, prominent tip.  Salt and pepper peeking out from the fabric and creeping up the base.  You recall for the hundredth time how he felt pressed up against you by your car the night before.

Your nipples harden and his cock bounces on its own.  He inhales deeply through his nose, his chest stretching his sweaty t-shirt. You wet your lips and he exhales loudly.  You approach his knees and rest your hands on his thighs, letting your nipples graze his shins. His phone buzzes and he ignores it. 

A bead of precum grows at the head of his cock.  He clenches his jaw.  

“Go ahead,” you tell him as you back away.  He gathers the precum with his thumb and begins to stroke himself slowly.  He’s proportional - His massive hand is a good fit.

“I’m gonna put this back on in two minutes,” you tell him, dangling your swimsuit top in your hand. 

He shakes his head slowly.  “Yeah, you would.” 

He looks down at himself then back up at you.  His eyes darken.  The vein on his hand makes you weak - his big, masculine hand wrapped around his thick cock. . . 

His breath becomes ragged, his eyelids get heavy. 

You disappear below the water, and when you resurface, you come to the edge of the pool between his legs.  You plant your hands just above his knees and inhale his musk from several inches away as you watch.  

“Thirsty?” he breathes. 

“Hell no.  Just wanna see what a sicko's cum looks like.” 

He smirks, then it fades. The dark, hungry look on his face makes you breathe heavier, throb harder, and twitch.

His ass clenches and he points the tip directly at your neck, then he groans as a hot, white rope meets your collarbone and the halter tie.  A few more ropes gurgle into his fist.  

“Gross,” you say.  But you ache for him so badly.  “You know, a gentleman always asks.” 

“I'm a sicko, remember?" He dips his hand in the pool, shakes it around, then wipes his hands on his boxers and puts his dick away. "Give me a minute." 

-

You dip your head under the halter tie of your bikini top to put it back on, but you let  it float, not covering your breasts. He pushes himself up and grabs his phone.  He looks at it and says under his breath, "gotcha, pendejo.”  Then tells you, "I've gotta make a call."  He pulls on his jeans but leaves them unbuckled.  Somehow, that’s even hotter than his pantsless look, but you’re miffed that he got dressed so quickly. 

You would've made him take off his shirt, but you love the way it stretches with every move he makes.  Half of it is dark with sweat now.  His back is a sight to behold as he walks over to the watertight, faux wicker box with the dry towels.  You squeeze your thighs together and clench around nothing.  

He pulls out two perfectly folded towels and you wonder out loud, "Are you fucking your maid, too?"

"Not this one," he says matter of factly.  He drops a towel on the deck near you, then goes into the house. 

-

He stands in his large window, spreads his feet as he does something on his phone, then looks at you as a water jet blasts into your thigh right at crotch level.  

How devious of him.  

You shift your hips slightly, just like he knew you would, and try to manage your best poker face as you let the jetstream carry you over the edge. You close your eyes before they roll back in your head.  Your core implodes and your whole body pulses as a much-needed orgasm is wrenched out of you.  Your mouth falls slack and you open your eyes in time to see him watching you with his phone to his ear.  He smirks as the jetstream fades, then walks away. 

-

You lay your head in the crook of your arm and let your bikini float near your breasts as you recover, with the occasional aftershock.  Then, you hear his truck start up and drive away.  Asshole.

[some-sort-of-siren]

If Joel wins I’ll sluttify his mc skin. Btw.

[toxicanonymity]

You really are trouble. Silence can never be bought, only rented (pt. 3 of 6)

Can read STANDALONE, or Story Master List

4.4k words | dbf!Joel Miller x F!Reader | 18+ nsfw

Summary: You go back to campus and Joel shows up. You stay with him for a night.

He chuckles then checks you out and a hunger comes over his face.  He looks down at himself before he lowers his voice and meets your eyes again. “What, you wanna souvenir? I’ll send you a picture.”  The way he's looking at you. . . you can practically see the reflection of your naked tits in his pupils, even though you're fully clothed.  He adjusts his jeans and looks out the passenger window behind you.

thx for moodboard @dark-scape. | joel master list

Next: Part 4

content notes/warnings: age gap, protective!joel, reader can wear Joel's jacket & Chad mistakes Joel as her dad (in hindsight I would try to do this a different way but it is what it is and I've left it because it reveals something about her dad), ample sexual tension, non-graphic violence, ref to gaslighting, light hurt/comfort, light stalking, blackmail/manipulation themes, begging, mild dubcon, cunnilingus, cumshot, slasherfucker easter egg🥚, Joel says he can wear something of hers to sleep.

As you drive back to campus, you try to think logically about Joel.  On one hand, fucking him might give you even more leverage, if you could stay detached, but you're smart enough to recognize the poor odds of that.  You also wonder if you should question his motives.  He's never so much as hit on you until now that you have something over him.  To be fair, it isn't out of nowhere -  you held eye contact with him while he fucked your stepmother.  You could’ve walked away as soon as your suspicion was confirmed, but you didn't walk away until he came, eyes locked with yours. Then, the next day, you went to his pool, took your top off, and made him jerk off.  

-

When you get to your apartment, you bring Joel's jacket inside and drape it over your upper body, all the way up to your nose while you lie on your bed and scroll your phone.  Chad, your kind-of ex, asks if you can talk.  You start typing something, but when he texts you again to add a question mark, you decide to ignore him.  You put on the jacket.  There’s a scrap of thermal paper with gps coordinates in the pocket.  Out of curiosity, you search the coordinates and they're near Uvalde, but you don’t find an address.  The closest thing is an abandoned mall.  

You put down your phone and turn up the jacket collar, then inhale it with your eyes closed.  You get another text and it’s Joel.  For a moment, you feel warm and fuzzy, until you open it.  

“Thinking of you.”  It’s a surveillance picture of you topless in his pool.  A pit opens in your stomach.

You can just picture his smug smile as his big stupid thumb pressed send.   The picture disappears as your ears get hot.  What does he think he’s doing? You text him accordingly. You seethe. But there’s another part of you – a hot, wet part of you, that only wants Joel more with every depraved thing he says and does. You almost wish the picture didn't disappear so you could admire his back and imagine what else could have been. . .

Imagine Joel getting in the pool with you, pinning you to the edge, his thickening cock pressing into you, rock-hard.  Joel wrapping his arm around you, shoving his hand between your legs, pulling your swimsuit to the side, taking you from behind.  His cock filling you up, one hand on your tits, the other between your legs.  Bouncing you on his cock, zero gravity, your knees spread and bent.  You get yourself off with very little effort by imagining this.  It only briefly crosses your mind that, worst case scenario, the oxytocin of each orgasm may work to his advantage.

-

You have to work at the cafe the next day.  It’s gotten slower since summer session ended, but the bookstore still gets traffic from families visiting campus and whoever's still around.  And as long as the bookstore gets traffic, so does the cafe.  

Chad, your kind-of ex, comes in.  You try to remain composed and professional, but it’s humiliating having to serve him after he cheated on you then tried to gaslight you that you were never "together" after almost a year.  He’s wearing a t-shirt from the venue where you met when you saw his band play. 

Your heart races as you write his name on a cup and he tries to get you to take your break.  You refuse.   He invites you to a party, then sits alone in the cafe for a few minutes, manspreading like he owns the place, watching you.  Eventually, he leaves and your eyes well up in tears.   You wipe down tables as a way to get a moment alone to compose yourself.  

-

When you finish wiping down the last table, you stand up and get startled by someone standing way too close behind you. 

Joel’s low, gruff voice asks, “I reckon that's Chad?” 

Your heart jumps to your throat.  “What are you doing here?” Naturally, you’re still mad about the topless picture – or at least, you feel like you should be mad. 

“Comin' back from a job.  You okay?”

You turn around and meet his eyes.  And forearms.   His denim shirt is fitted and his sleeves are rolled up.  Jesus.  

“I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“I know.  You can delete it yourself.  Come out to my truck for a minute.” 

“Seriously?”  

“What, you trust me to do it myself?” 

You roll your eyes and take your break, following him outside.  

-

Joel opens the passenger door for you.  When he gets in the truck, he pulls out an iPad and opens his home surveillance app.  

“We’re on my hotspot.  Here, delete the whole day if you want. Then go to the trash and empty it.”  He hands you the iPad.  “Can’t be too careful these days, Trouble.”  he adds.

Your cheeks burn with exception. Resentment.  “Can’t be too careful ‘cause a creep like you might record me?”   

“See that black bar?" He points. "Means no data for that time.  ‘Cause I turned’em off, just not fast enough.” 

“Conveniently, right before you took your cock out.”  

He chuckles, then checks you out.  A hunger comes over his face.  Maybe it was hearing you refer to his cock.  He looks down at himself before he lowers his voice and meets your eyes again.

“What, you wanna souvenir? I’ll send you a picture.”  You can practically see the reflection of your naked tits in his eyes.  He adjusts his jeans and looks out the window behind you.

Your face gets hot.  You compose yourself and look him up and down.  “If I wanna see your cock, I’ll tell you to take it out.” 

His eyebrows shoot up. "Attagirl."  He whistles as he shifts in his seat.  “God damn, Trouble.  You really are.” He puffs his cheeks as he exhales and shakes his head.  "Who knew," he adds under his breath, looking absently through the windshield.  

You hand the iPad back to him and an alert pops up, catching your eye.  It’s your stepmother’s car at his gate.  It quickens your heart rate.  You study his face for an answer. 

He sighs.  “She keeps callin’, comin’ by.   I changed the gate codes. . . I’ll text you your new one." His brow furrows as he stares into space, then he scratches the back of his neck.  "I reckon I should prolly stay away for a couple days, let her get it out of her system.” 

He deletes the app and reaches behind the seat to pull out an Apple Store bag.  He puts the iPad in the bag and hands it to you.  “Keep it.” It’s blue like the phone from yesterday. You should’ve known. 

“Real creative.  This is your whole plan? Buy me an Apple store?” you hand it back to him.  "I'm not walking back in there with that." 

"Fair enough."  He smiles to himself and leaves it in the truck as you both get out.  He puts on his Ray Bans. 

Joel pulls up his pants and puts his hands on his hips, shifting his weight to one leg and popping out a knee.  Your gaze drifts to the bulge below his belt.  His brow furrows as he looks off.  

“Now. . .'bout Chad. . .  I reckon I got nothin’ but time now if he needs a lesson in manners.”  Once again, you hate him for bringing up Chad.  

Your face tightens despite your best efforts. "Don't bother."

“Aw, shoot.”  He always knows.  “Com'ere, sugar.”  Joel opens his big arms. You can’t resist his bear hug.  You feel safe.

You sniffle and he whispers, “Hey, Trouble. What did the white grape say to the purple grape?" 

"Hm?"

"Breathe." 

You can't help but laugh. He hadn't told one of those in a while. Fitting, too.

“There she is.”  He smiles as you pull away. 

“I have to get back to work.”

“Reckon I'll be 'round if you need anything.” 

“Okay, creeper.”

-

When you get home from work, your roommate is watching the news.  The newscasters are talking about a body found in an underground bunker outside Uvalde near the border.  You look up and do a double take.  

“Holy shit.” Your heart races.

“What”

“Oh, I thought I recognized that mall.” 

You consider texting Joel about it, but something tells you not to.  You don't text him at all.  You google it. There are rumors it was a cartel boss.

Your roommate is planning on going to the party Chad invited you to to meet up with a guy you and Chad introduced her to.  You resist her invitation, but she begs you to come just for a few minutes so she doesn’t have to show up alone, and eventually, you relent.  You do a little pregaming at home before heading to the party.  You wear something hot to make Chad sorry – leather pants and a low-cut, lace top – with Joel's jacket over it. 

-

Chad is already drunk when you get  there.  He herds you and your roommate to the drinks. The guy she’s talking to went on a beer run. Aside from the two of you, it’s almost all guys, so you’d feel guilty leaving her there.  You decide to stay just until her guy gets back from his beer run. 

This takes longer than you expect.  Chad keeps trying to talk to you, telling you how good you look, until someone distracts him with beer pong. You have to wonder if your roommate's guy is really on a beer run, or with another girl.  These guys are all the same.  You feel guilty for Chad introducing them.  When the guy finally shows up, he does have beer in hand, but not nearly an hour’s worth when the store is just a few blocks away. 

As you’re getting ready to leave, Chad steps in front of the door.  He begs you to talk to him just for a few minutes.  You refuse and open the door to leave, but he doesn’t back down.  He yanks the door shut, then towers over you and pins you to the foyer wall.  

Within seconds, the front door swings back open.  

“Get your hands off her,” Joel booms as he charges in, then grabs Chad by the shirt and slams him up against the wall. Chad is an inch or two taller than Joel, and yet Joel seems to tower over him. 

“You told your dad?” Chad asks you, incredulous. 

“Get in the truck,” Joel tells you sternly, pointing out the door.  You leave the door open behind you to watch and listen as you very slowly inch toward Joel's truck.

Joel tells him, “If she told her dad, you wouldn’t be breathin'. I'm fixin' to save your life right now."

He releases Chad just long enough for him to turn around and face him so it's a fair fight.   Then, Joel decks Chad in the face.  Chad goes stumbling across the foyer holding his jaw.  

“Get in the truck, now!” Joel yells out the door at you, neck vein bulging, then pulls the door shut and stays inside with Chad.  

-

You get in the truck and the shock catches up to you.  You can’t stop the tears. Your mascara runs and you don’t have any tissues.  You open the center console and don’t find any.  He’s a man, of course he doesn’t have any.  You open the glove box anyway.  A few scattered condoms, no surprise there.  Registration.  Not much else. It's super shallow.  

You lift the tray out.  In the hidden chamber, there’s nothing but a gun and a cylinder. . .a silencer.  In Texas, it'd be weirder if he didn't have a gun. But a silencer? Who is he, John Wick?  What kind of contractor carries a silencer? . . . No. The blood drains from your face. You quickly replace the tray and close the glove box, your heart racing. Was it a bullet wound scar you caught a glimpse of at the pool? 

The mental image of him pulling off his jeans makes you forget about the silencer.  If your leggings weren't leather, you'd probably soak right through them.  

 -

Joel comes out and slams the door behind him. His muscles and veins bulge as he charges toward you.  

"Are you okay?" He asks as he gets in the truck. He leans over to buckle you in. You can smell his sweat and musk. 

"Yeah, I'm fine." 

"That's the guy you were seein' for damn near a year? That damn fool?" 

"Don't," you warn. 

You ride in silence and he calms down. 

"Sorry," he says at a stoplight.  He rests his massive hand loosely on your thigh.  "I shouldn't'a said that " His veins are still bulging.

"You're right though," you sigh. Your eyes won't leave the vein on his hand.

You shift in your seat, the lightest contact of his big, masculine hand literally opening your legs.  You fold your left heel under you, which has the effect of shifting his hand to your inner thigh.  He inhales deeply but leaves his hand resting loosely on your inner thigh. 

"Well, I reckon it's over now," he says. 

He doesn't take his hand back until he needs it on the steering wheel. 

"This isn't the way," you tell him. 

"You're stayin' with me tonight," he responds, then stretches his jaw.  “Got a suite on the river.” 

You absently fiddle with the scrap of paper in your (his) left jacket pocket.  You ask him what job he was coming back from.  He does a double take and holds out his hand. 

"Gimme that," he says sternly. 

“I just like to hear about what you’re building.” 

"Now."

"What, your trash?" you hand it over and he lifts his butt out of the seat to shove it in his pocket. In effect, the motion is a pelvic thrust.  It makes you forget about everything else. 

-

He's staying at one of the nicer hotels on the Riverwalk. He pulls up to the entrance and asks the valet for a minute.  

Joel comes over and opens your door.  "Come on, let's go."  He notices the mascara on your face.  "Shit." He pulls a first aid kit from under the seat and gives you an alcohol pad and uses one to clean the blood off his knuckles. He glances at the glove box contemplatively, but doesn't open it. 

The lobby has an overly modern chandelier.  He gives you a key card. On the elevator, you rest your head on his shoulder.  It's a suite with two bedrooms.  His stuff is already in one of them.  

He gestures to the empty room, scratching the back of his neck, making his bicep look even more enormous. "If you want to, uh. . . Do you need anything? I can go to the store"

"Like what," you implore. 

He leans against the door frame and crosses his imposing arms. 

"I dunno what you need in general, so.  I dunno," he shrugs.  “You’ve got a toothbrush and stuff in there.”  He nods to the bathroom.  

"Is there a blanket?" You ask. 

"You got it." He disappears, opens a few doors, and comes back with a blanket and the iPad.  "Put a couple movies on there for ya.  If you wanna cast one to the TV." 

He swipes it open and gives it to you, and you almost want to cry.  He can tell.  He turns the TV to the right mode for you.  

“You can wear something of mine if you want,” he offers, then leaves to take a shower.

“I always sleep in leather pants,” you say deadpan.  

You may take him up on that later, but not now.  You freshen up and take off his jacket then lie down on the bed, on top of the comforter, but under the blanket he fetched. You start watching Scream.   

-

After his shower, he comes back in boxers and a t-shirt and asks if you're okay.  

You were fine until he asked.  You swallow down your emotions. "Stop asking me that." You sit up and pull your knees to your chest.  

He approaches the bed and sits down on the edge. He lays a hand on your knee, and you ogle its masculine knuckles and prominent vein as he says "I know it's been a rough week." He doesn't seem to know what else to say, but his eyes look sincere.   

You scoot over to make room for him on the bed and lift up the blanket.  He lies down and lets you into the crook of his arm.  He smells good. You watch most of the movie like that, not moving.  Just inhaling his scent and lusting after him, your wits battling your carnal need. He falls asleep for awhile but wakes back up.

-

On the screen, Billy Loomis sucks blood off his own fingers. Joel says, “There he is.”  He's seen your canvas tote bag with that image on it.  “See?  You’ve always had bad taste in men.”  

You punch him in the chest playfully and he acts like it hurts.  His smile kills you.  

You’re on a bed with him, snuggled  up with him, your head on his enormous bicep, and he feels far away.  Why doesn’t he try to fuck you?  It hits you like a punch in the gut that if you want something, you're going to have to take it.  And God, you want something.  You know better, but you want it.

You wet your lips and watch his face.  The pattern of his facial hair is so perfect.  Every little blank patch is perfectly placed.  Every touch of gray and silver.  It’s all of him, really.  Every broken capillary on his skin, every line.  It’s the most perfect design.  It’s almost unbearable. 

You hook your far leg over his.  He glances at you.  You pause the movie.  He does a double take when he sees the way you’re looking at him.  You’re trying to work up the courage to make a move.  Your lips part, and your hand glides up his chest to his neck, resting by his vein. His heart rate quickens.

“Terrible taste,” he mutters, reading your eyes like a book. 

You slowly lean in. He intercepts your mouth, controlling the nature of the kiss.  He kisses half your bottom lip, then trails his lips down your chin.  You tilt your chin up and he kisses its underside, open-mouth.  He pivots over your leg to be on top of you with one leg between yours.  His expansive hand runs down the side of your lacy top to your free leg, and he grabs your hamstring as your knee bends around him.  Your hips lift and you grind into his thigh, desperate for whatever he’ll give you.  He hardens against your inner thigh and you hear yourself gasp softly.  

Joel gets between your legs entirely.  He moves slowly.  He lays his hardened boxers against your leather pants right where you throb and ache for him.   His lips land lightly in the hollow of your neck, and he sucks gently.  His hard-on only rolls into you once, sending a jolt of electricity through you before he cruelly takes it away as he works his way down your body.

He tenderly kisses your collarbone, then the lace border of your slutty top.  He lifts your shirt up and you pull it over your head, along with your bra.  His lips press between your breasts, his beard lightly tickling their soft skin.  He palms one breast while his nose nudges your other nipple and they both harden painfully.  He sucks just below your nipple and his hand trails down to your pants, grazing over your zipper, then engulfs your entire crotch. His flattened fingers rolling firmly but gently into your clit, over your pants.  He breathes heavily.  

You arch your back and he breathes, “God almighty,” before taking your other tit into his mouth.  

Then, he continues his slow journey down your body. He plants two open-mouth kisses on your stomach.  You’ve never been so wet or ready.  His kisses trail down below your belly-button, to your leather pants.  

All this instead of just kissing you on the mouth like you wanted. It feels like heaven, but it also doesn’t sit right.  

"It's not happening," you say. 

"What?"

"I'm not gonna fuck you." You're saying it to yourself more than to him. 

"Oh, I'm not gonna let you, sugar," he rumbles in a near-whisper.  Then, his nose digs into the leather between your legs. 

"Just wanna taste you. Make you forget everything else." 

He has both his thumbs on your mound and presses his mouth into just the right spot, a wave of pleasure washing over you, lifting your hips.  His mouth presses and consumes you slowly, but so hungrily that his beard would be hurting you if your pants weren’t on. You're already twitching.

He looks up and his tired eyes swallow you whole. 

You feel exposed.  You’re extremely aroused, and he feels far away.  You would much rather be making out, with his whole body wrapped around you, his hardness grinding into you. Still, you can't deny this feels very, very good. 

His fingers curl into the front of your waistband, and he looks up.   

“I'm not into that," you tell him. “Can you kiss me?”

“I’m about to.  Ever had it from a grown man?” he asks.  “Or hell, a woman?" he adds.  

You don't answer.

“You don’t know if you’re into it.”

He craves you badly - it’s all over his face.  You do want to see how hot he looks doing it.    

"You have thirty seconds to convince me," you tell him. 

"Only need ten."  You're throbbing so bad that might be all it takes, period.  

His thumbs unbutton you. He starts to unzip you and inhales sharply when he sees you're commando. You let him peel off your pants.  He does it slowly, looking at your pussy like a juicy burger the whole time.  He pauses to thumb you, like he can’t resist.  

“Fuck me,” he says when he feels how wet you are. He thumbs your clit with one hand while pulling your pants down with the other.    Then he finishes taking them off, prowls back toward you, arms bulging, and puts your thighs over his muscular  shoulders.  

It's surreal seeing Joel between your legs.  He feels your naked breast and hooks his other hand under your thigh, holding your hip loosely.  Tension is coiling deep in your core, throbbing, looming, tighter, more desperate than you knew it could be.  

The hand on your breast slips down your torso as he kisses your inner thighs, his beard scratching you lightly. He plants a kiss on your mound, opens his mouth, and licks his way down to your clit.  He’s careful not to drag his facial hair against your most sensitive skin.  He nudges the side of your clit with the bridge of his nose.  You throb and squirm, and his large hands on your hips hold you still.  He seals his mouth around your clit and the top half of your dripping seam.  He applies suction while his strong tongue languidly laps you.  

With a groan, you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding.  You want his cock.  You can hardly stand it.   

Between heavy breaths, you tell him, “Time’s up.  Come here.” 

But he keeps devouring your pussy.  You tangle your fingers in his hair and whine, “Joel, please” and he laps you more firmly, makes eye contact with you.  He flicks his tongue, sucks, drags his tongue down, plunges his tongue inside you and you moan. 

“Take your cock out,” you tell him.  You're aching to be filled.

He pulls his face away, shiny and red from the nose down, replacing it with his hand.  He pulls his boxers down.  The sight of it makes your temples weak.  He thumbs your clit and slips one, then two fingers inside you, making your head fall back as you clench around him. It’s not what you want, but it’s so much better than nothing.

"So tight," he marvels.   He gathers your wetness and lubes himself with you.  Not what you had in mind.  You at least want to feel his hardness against you.  You beg him upward toward you, but he won’t go.  

He strokes his stiff manhood as his head returns between your legs, his tongue tracing your folds up to your clit. You begin to squirm and he holds you down with one hand, a sight that makes you weak. He hums "Mmm" and moans into the apex of your folds. You're throbbing desperately, your hips move on their own, and he must feel it.  

"Come for me, sugar," he mumbles into your warmth.  Then he opens his jaw, firmly plants his lips, and digs in again. 

Your thighs tremble, threatening to close in on his cheeks.  You dig your head into the pillow.  With each pass of his tongue, each push of his lips, the tension in your core coils tighter until it can’t hold anymore and springs open all at once.   As your hips lift against his mouth, his lips press back and he swallows you hungrily. 

Pleasure blooms from your core in rhythmic pulses.  Your arms and thighs jerk randomly in unison, your abs lift you off the pillow.  You’re a prisoner to the pleasure, moving at its will, until your climax wanes.  The release floods your chest and you pry his head off you.  You finger his clean, messy hair.   

Joel flattens his fingers to take more wetness from you and you shudder with an aftershock.  He sits up on his knees and his brow furrows painfully.  You're too busy memorizing the look on his face to fully appreciate the way his ass clenches as he starts to come. Relief covers his face and he grunts as his hot load shoots onto your stomach.  

-

He pulls his boxers back up, sits back on his knees, and breathes.  His tan, masculine hands affectionately rub your thighs, and you watch his chest rise and fall.  Somehow he never looks vulnerable, even right after he comes. 

Joel steps away and comes back with tissues. He cleans you up and runs you a bath. 

"Good night, Trouble." His thumb affectionately brushes your temple and he kisses you on the head. Then, he goes to his own room.  

-

tysm for any reblogs/comments, I love to know what y'all are thinking 🫶

Tags: @jbcalway @daddy-din @angelmenace @silkiers @axshadows @legs0pen4dilfs @fan-fiction-floozy @grnherbs @icuminurbutt @lokanda @not-a-unique-snowflakewflake89 @likeanimagepassingby2 @witchy-jadda @mxtokko @missannwinchester @cannolighost @anxiousankylosaurus @montenegroisr @97cityy @lillyrob @billyloomiswhore4 @cloudroomblog @boysddontcry

[toxicanonymity]

Silence can never be bought, only rented

Part 1 of 6, 1.3k | dbf!Joel x f!eader | NSFW 18+

Next: PART 2 / Story Master List

SUMMARY: You come home from campus one weekend and catch your dad’s friend Joel in bed with your stepmother. 

WARNINGS: I8+ Joel PiV w/ someone else (before you're involved at all). Accidental voyeurism, exhibitionism by opportunity. Joel mentally cucks her w/ you.

It’s dark, but you still catch quite an eyeful when you approach the bedroom and the door is wide open.  They’re doing it doggy style on the bed,  facing the window.  In full view of the door.  Joel is buck naked.  He’s always been burly, but you still didn’t quite imagine what was under his flannels all these years.   He scowls and grunts as his massive hands hold onto her hips and his pale asscheeks flex powerfully.  

Your dad is leading a special military training exercise in an undisclosed location.  He always tells you to call Joel if you need anything while he’s away.  He knows how you feel about your stepmom.  She’s only 10 years older than you and got together with your dad when she was your age.  Your dad is no angel, but you’re protective of him, and you’ve had your suspicions about his young bride.   So when you come home that night and Joel’s truck is in the driveway, you deliberately park in front of the neighbor’s yard and enter your house very quietly.  Luckily for you, Joel’s hearing is bad, but you sneak around anyway. You can hear the mattress and the slap of skin down the hall.  Then, your stepmother makes the porniest moan, making you gag. 

When your shadow slowly approaches in the moonlight, he looks toward the bedroom door and does a double take.   You flash your eyebrows but don’t make a peep.   And when he sees you, he doesn’t stop.  He keeps railing her.   He slows down, and she whines.  

Then, he makes eye contact with you, looks you up and down, and starts fucking her harder.  God, what a pervert.   Not to be intimidated, you stand there and watch him finish.  You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms and ankles, taking in every detail.  At least he’s wearing a rubber.   Before he comes, he pulls almost all the way out and looks down at himself, then back up at you, almost like he wants you to know he’s hung.  He slams her back on his cock with a grunt and she moans as he empties his balls, his eyes still locked on yours.  

-

You slink outside and sit in your car for a minute, thinking.  You park in front of your house as if you’re just arriving.  You leave a note on Joel’s truck, then come in through the front door, noisily.  

Then you call, “Uncle Joel? Are you here?”  You smile to yourself and wait.  You never call him that, but it’s how your dad always used to refer to him.  Then you add, “I thought you were gonna meet me there. . .”

“Just a sec,” he yells. 

You overhear your stepmom ask him, “You were going to what?” 

Joel says something inaudible. 

“Meet her where?”

Oh, this is going to be fun.  You grab a drink from the fridge and sit down at the kitchen table while they both come downstairs.  You greet him with a kiss on the cheek.  

“The toilet upstairs wasn’t working,” your stepmom says, still disheveled and proud of her lie.  

You nod and smile. “Yeah, Dad warned me,” you lie.  She seems to think she lucked out with a coincidence.  She’s that dumb.  

“Are you done?” you ask Joel. 

“Uh,” he pauses in thought. 

“Fixing the toilet,” you say.  

“Yeah, good to go,” he says with a glance toward her. 

“Thanks,” you beam.  “Dad will be happy.”   

You get up and give him a big hug, then hold eye contact as you break away.  

Your stepmom looks back and forth between the two of you.  

“Shall we?” you ask him.  

“Um, yeah,” he shoves his hands in his pockets and looks at her nervously as he grabs his keys from the key hook.  “Let me know if it gives you any more trouble,” he says to her.   She looks so pissed, you have to suppress your smirk.  

You need to think this over.  You aren’t ready to talk to Joel.  On your way out, you text your high school friend about staying at her place for the night since you already drove all the way here.  

-

Joel jogs to your car to catch up with you.  His cheeks are still flushed.  

“Where are we going?” he asks stupidly. 

You laugh. 

“Don’t you wanna talk?” he adds, hovering near your driver’s side door as you unlock it.   He looks somewhere between annoyed and bemused, which pisses you off. He should be afraid for you to tell your dad.  

You close your door, stand against the car, and grab both sides of his unbuttoned flannel shirt, assuming your stepmom is still watching.  You pull him into you, then wrap your arms around his waist until you feel him harden against your jeans and he inhales your hair deeply, sending a warm rush to your core.  

Then, you put your arms around his neck, and his hands loosely graze your waist. 

You say softly in his ear, “Go home, Joel.” 

You get in your car and look up at the house just in time to see your stepmom’s silhouette retreat from the front window. 

Joel runs his hands through his hair and walks to his truck.  

He takes your note off the window and opens it: You’re sick.   

-

You go to your friend’s house and watch horror movies.  She goes to community college and lives in her parents’ basement.  She’s so happy to see you, she wishes you would come home more.  You can stay with her any time.  

Joel calls you and you send it to voicemail.  He texts you, too.  He says he’s done with her, doesn’t care, that he’ll break it off tomorrow.  You don’t answer.  

You have a lot of thoughts and feelings, but you keep coming back to the hardness in his jeans pressing against you.  You don’t want to think about it.  He’s been fucking your stepmother and that’s gross.  You try to put it out of your mind, but the feeling stays between your legs.  You pinch your eyes shut and shake your head, you just see his eyes roving you hungrily as he fucks her.  Sick.  Really sick.  And yet, your panties are so moist.

-

You decide to go back home the next day to see if you can tell whether Joel has really broken it off.  Your stepmother says it’s such a nice surprise to see you.  You skeptically ask why it’s a surprise, since she knows you’re in town.  She shrugs and asks if you want something to eat.  She’s looking at you differently.  She keeps looking at you up and down.  

You return the look and ask, “What?”

She asks if you had a nice time last night. 

“Yeah, we did . . . did you?” 

She smiles and nods,  “Yeah.” 

She mentions the toilet is acting up again and you silently seethe. He not only hasn’t broken it off, but he’s coming over?  There’s almost something smug about the way she says it, too.  You offer to look at the toilet yourself.  She says Joel is already on his way. 

His truck pulls up, then your phone dings.

Joel:  Wanna give us some privacy?

You:  I dunno, what are you gonna do with it? 

Joel: I told you, I’m ending it.  

You: Ever heard of a phone call? 

Your phone keeps dinging and you ignore it.  

“That must be him,” she says.  She calls him and asks him if he’s there.  

He comes in and looks salty.  She takes his jacket.  

“Actually, I’m gonna borrow this,” you say on impulse and grab it from her on your way out.  “I’ll give it back later,” you tell him, looking over your shoulder. 

Why does he wear his jeans so tight, you wonder.  

You text him from your car, “I’m not leaving the neighborhood,” but then you do. You go back to your friend’s house.  

He calls you 15 minutes later and you ignore it.  He texts you, and you ignore it.  You let him squirm.

You decide you'll keep his jacket and take it back to campus with you.

-

PART 2

master list

[toxicanonymity]

For Survival

1.4k | Joel x f!Reader | masterlist

Consensual fucking between strangers. Sarah is not in the picture.

gif source: @dark-scape - hot t-shirt gif set

I will not simp for Joel Miller, I w- *smut explodes out of fingers*

It’s human nature to get excited by disaster and feel aroused by danger. Our bodies put us in a heightened state, allowing us to do what we need to do to survive. So when a hot, burly stranger manhandles you into his truck to evacuate, you understand the desire that floods your body, and you aren’t surprised when the feeling grows.

You keep replaying it in your mind - his big arm swinging that huge wrench. His gruff voice yelling, "get in the truck!" while you stand frozen. His strong arms wrapping around you, forcing you into the cab. The whiff of his musk when he buckles your seatbelt. His massive hand on your knee. The sincerity in his eyes when he reassures you it's going to be okay. His neck vein bulging as he shifts into drive and peels off.

-

It's just the two of you together. It’s hard to pry your eyes off Joel while he’s driving. His jeans fit a little too well, and his biceps are bursting out of his faded blue t-shirt.

He's talking, but it’s hard to listen to his plan when his voice is so fucking hot. For the past hour that you’ve been with him, you’ve only been getting wetter and warmer. You’re so hot for him that you finally have to take off your hoodie, leaving a thin tank top.

When you remove it, Joel does a double-take and checks out your body. You know that look. The arousal must have been bubbling under the surface. All it took was a glimpse to set it off. As you sit in traffic, he keeps looking over at you. You keep an eye on his tight ass jeans, and sure enough, a bulge is growing.

Traffic is at a total stand-still. Suddenly he’s much less decisive and focused.

“We need to find another way over to highway 71,” he says, furrowing his brow. “I can’t think–what’s between here–” He scratches his mustache with his fingers. “Fuck,” he says. The way he says it hardens your nipples. His voice could not be any sexier.

“Do you have a map?” you ask.

“There’s one in the tailgate,” he says. “Yeah,” he adds, thinking it through. “Let's pull off and get it out.”

His tan forearms flex as he veers off the road.

You ask, “Can you park somewhere I can pee while we’re at it?”

He parks in a secluded spot by the woods then unbuckles his seatbelt and sighs. His biceps bulge as he scratches the back of his neck and closes his eyes for a moment.

You’ve never been this desperate for anyone, ever. You've known him for an hour, but it feels like forever. You'd be dead if it weren't for him. Even on a normal day, he would be attractive, but the combination of the disaster and the way he saved you and was also rough with you at the same time . . . Your need for him is absurd, and your body can barely take it.

You feel him checking you out as you get out of the truck and go into the woods. When you return, he’s reading the map. Or trying to, at least.

As you get back into the cab of the truck, his eyes linger and rove your body.

He shakes himself out of it. “How familiar are you with this area?” he asks, pointing somewhere on the map.

“Can I see?” You lean over the stowaway console.

“Yeah, sorry.” He folds up the console and you slide over into the middle seat. Your arm brushes his and his face flushes.

"Ok, let's see here. . ." You’re looking at the map, but you’re so distracted that it’s just a bunch of lines and numbers. You suspect it might look the same to him.

He hands it over to you and you try your best to focus so you can read it. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he digs his wrist into the bulge in his pants. His hips lift ever so slightly as he does it, and he sighs.

-

You feel a stab of need, and it's just too much. You inhale deeply and prepare to throw caution to the wind.

“Look, I’ll be honest," you say. "I can’t focus either. I’m too horny."

His eyebrows shoot up and he smiles slightly. “What was that?”

You sigh. “It’s totally normal in this situation,” you say. “It’s just, this part of the nervous system, it doesn’t always differentiate . . .” you trail off.

He inhales deeply and nods with a barely perceptible smile. There's a twinkle in his eye.

You continue. “And until enough blood returns to the brain, mental processing is going to be a challenge.”

He gazes lustily at you in silence for what feels like forever. Your eyelids are weak with desire. You fold up the map and flash your eyebrows as you set it aside.

“Fuck it,” he says, and starts unbuckling his belt. His voice is low and gruff. “For survival.”

He pauses and asks, “Did you wanna go back over there and give me a minute?” He turns to read your face. He has the deepest, most expressive eyes. You really won't be able to function until you fuck this man.

You shake your head subtly. “No,” you say, not breaking eye contact. Then, to clarify your intentions, you boldly add, "I'm on birth control." This isn't a handjob situation. Your body has a primal need for his cock.

His pupils dilate and his chest rises and falls.

He leans in and your breath hitches. His large hand cradles the back of your head, then your mouths smash together. His tongue parts your lips and your bodies pull together like magnets. You grab the hard bulge in his jeans and his hips thrust into your hand. He breaks the kiss with a gruff moan.

You ache so badly for him. You unbutton your pants and feverishly kick them and your underwear off. He pulls his jeans down.

His hips rise as you straddle him and your needy bodies come together. He's big. His clothed hardness throbs into your aching clit. You reach into his underwear and free his warm, stiff member. He's rock hard and pre-cum is already pearling at the swollen tip. His large, rough hands yank you up against him with a grunt. A tingling rush floods your body as your naked loins meet. He winces in pleasure and you softly moan.

His hips move, gliding his smooth, stiff cock along your dripping seam. God, it feels good. His swollen tip finds your entrance, and you're twitching as it nestles there. You search each other's eyes, then he pulls you down hard. He grunts as he parts your insides and fills you up.

Fuck, he's so hard. You rise up letting an inch out and he pulls you back down again. You feel it building in your core. It's even hotter than you've spent the last hour imagining.

His rough hands knead your hips. He controls the rhythm and pace. There's a sense of urgency, but no pleasure is sacrificed. He expertly thumbs your clit.

"You're incredible," he says, breathing heavily. The feeling is mutual. You look into his sad eyes before your faces meet again and you devour each other's mouths.

You fuck like your lives depend on it. His thrusts are powerful and animalistic, but smooth. It's like fucking is his purpose in life. You suppose it is, on an evolutionary level. You kiss sloppily, moaning into each other's mouths and cheeks. He manhandles you on his cock like your body is part of his. The pulsing pressure builds deep within you until it can't build anymore.

Pleasure explodes from your solar plexus and floods your whole body, releasing the tension in massive waves. You've never come so hard.

He groans as you contract around his cock, then he erupts inside you, his hips grinding into you slower. There’s something so raw about the way you both come, groaning unrestrained, letting it all out. Each pulse of his cock extends your climax, until finally you're both finished. His large hands relax on your hips and he slumps back into the seat and headrest.

He stays inside you as you catch your breath.

If you die tonight, tomorrow, next week - at least you had this.

-

Next Story (not showing up in tags?): for survival 2

[toxicanonymity]

Do you ever think about how Corey would interact with any of the Joelkemon? Would he be allowed in the brothel? What about Michael, what would Michael make of the Joelkemon?

the diner (brothel precursor)

brothel master list | brothel asks can now go to @toxicbrothel if you want.

Long before the brothel--before there was a single Joel--there was the Diner where Corey and I were writing a fic and he made it take forever because he kept insisting on fucking everyone. One day, shortly after I finally started watching TLOU, Joel Miller barged into the Diner pitching For Survival, the first Joel fic I would write.

from the end of rock bottom writer's room:

Corey, Michael, and me are at the diner and Joel Miller from The Last of Us walks up.   Joel: So, I'm thinking. . . Me: Whoa, what are you doing here? This is a Blorbo-only zone  *Corey looks at him smugly* Joel: I have a hot fic idea  Me: We're good, man  Joel: Hear me out  Corey (standing up): SHE SAID WE'RE GOOD Me: *looks at Michael and nods toward Joel* *Michael begins to escort Joel out* Joel (yelling at an auctioneer pace on his way out): the apocalypse sluttifies everyone making them too horny to think so they're forced to get off and I'll wear that outfit you like and have a big girthy wrench 1.5k TOPS, I PROMISE  Me: *sighs, open google docs* 

But yes, Corey is welcome in the brothel -- pre-accident, 50s sock hop Corey, post-accident chocolate milk crushing Corey, and post-Michael shape Corey are all welcome. I'm sure they can let bygones be bygones. The Joels understand Michael was just doing his job when he escorted Joel out of the diner. Michael still acts as a bouncer sometimes, like when Free Use and Speakeasy moved out and Michael took their suitcases.