נאָוואַ

It was someone’s birthday. That sleazy, annoying old guy who favours the taste of liquor more than his kids, with the sayings that he was a doctor before the outbreak—which Joel didn’t believe, not even for a second.

But more, Joel couldn’t grasp the idea of celebrating birthdays. Who cares—you get born, you die. Ain’t nothing to celebrate about. Especially in a stocked bar with fifty people just smelling their ass cracks at how close they had to be to each other.

He wouldn’t have come. If it wasn’t for you.

“Y’coming to the birthday party tonight?” You asked, looking from the mirror to Joel while brushing your hair.

“What birthday?” He asked, already a frown on his face. His hair still wet from the shower you two just took, and you can still feel them dangling on your back while he fucked you from behind. “Steves.”

He had to keep an eye on you. If it wasn’t for that damn age gap thing, his arms would be wrapped over your shoulder and his eyes telling every man to ‘fuck off’ before they get too close to you.

“Fuckin’ steve. You goin’ there?” He asks, his eyes finding yours in the mirror.

“Yea, have to. He is the one who always covers my shifts and even lets me out early.”

“That ain’t no reason,” he murmurs, his hands coming to wrap themselves around your waist as you feel his naked, wet chest on your back. “Ya know how the town is, baby. I don’t want anyone speaking to my pretty girl.”

Oh, and how pretty you were. Pretty little thing that loves to help people, always chirps around happily with the intention of spreading positive vibes. And of course, that attracted a lot of men your age in Jackson. It was no secret—it was just a matter of time before you finally got caught with Joel. You were his, and he was yours. Nobody had to know. But Joel saw it all. Every lingering glance, every laugh that lasted too long. And he didn’t like sharing.

So that’s why he was sitting there in the corner, hand gripping the glass of scotch like a stress ball. His eyes fixated on your conversation with a young man, you lips tugging a smile and your body way too close to his for Joels liking.

He watched the way your head tilted when you laughed, the way your fingers brushed your hair behind your ear—soft, familiar gestures that Joel knew too well. But now they were being offered to someone else. Someone younger. Someone who didn’t know the way you moaned Joel’s name when the lights were low and the world was quiet.

But he couldn’t blame you. Even if he despised it, he always told you to act normal around other men so nobody catches on your relationship with him.

The guy leaned in, said something that made you laugh again, and Joel’s jaw clenched, while his knuckles whitened around the glass. He could feel the heat rising in his chest, slow and bitter, like whiskey left too long in the sun.

Then the guy’s hand slid onto your lower back.

And Joel’s body already moved before he even realized. The crowd blurred around him, voices muffled by the rush of blood in his ears.

“She ain’t interested in you.” His voice cut through the noise like a blade—low, rough and final. The young man blinked, startled, his hand still resting on your back. You barely had time to react before Joel was on you.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, firm and unyielding. No room for argument. No room for explanation.

He didn’t look at you. Didn’t look at anyone. You gasped when he turned and started walking, dragging you with him around the bar, past the pool table, through the crowd that parted like water around him. Conversations faltered. Heads turned. But Joel didn’t stop.

Then the back door slammed open, and the cool night air rushed in.

You were outside.

But Joel didn’t speak. Just turned you around, one hand gripping your hip, the other pressing firmly between your shoulder blades. You bent forward under his touch, cheek brushing the cool wall, hands against it and breath caught somewhere between surprise and anticipation. He was behind you now, holding you there.

“Joel, what the hell are you doing?” you ask, trying to squirm away from his hands.

But then you feel it. His cold hands beneath your dress, hooking fingers around the waistband of your panties and pulling them down to your knees. A shudder leaves your lips when a finger nudges against your opening.

“Some scrawny kid thinks he’s got a shot?” He murmurs into your ear, kissing behind it.

You let out a low whine when he buries his fingers into you.

“He—he didn’t mean any bad, Joel. We were just talking.”

“And now you’re also protecting him, hm?” He asks, his finger starting to gently thrust into your cunt, while his other hand still holds you down. “Y’try to break your old mans heart?”

This wasn’t something new. This was routine. Joel didn’t need permission—he already had it. You’d given him that freedom long ago. He knew your body, your limits, your yes. You didn’t resist. You never did—not with him. You wanted this just as much. Maybe more even more than him.

But you can’t lie, it took you by surprise that it happened now. In the back of the bar. While people were still inside, still talking. The back door wasn’t locked. While at any moment, someone could walk out and catch you two.

You suddenly hear the zipper of his jeans opening, his fingers leave your pussy at the same moment.

“Gonna show you that you’re mine,” he whispers before you feel his tip entering you slowly. A high pitched moan leaves your lips, instantly covering your mouth with your hand.

“Nah, keep them on the wall,” he demands, taking your hand and pressing it onto the wall. “Let them hear. Let them all hear.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling him feed his cock into you in a quick motion. You want to moan out, to whine, to scream but you know there are people in the streets, and most importantly—the people in the bar are going to hear you.

“Joel—please. They’re gonna know.”

“So be it. Hid my girl from everyone’s eyes for way too long,” His hands squeeze your hips while he starts thrusting into you in a quick pace. “Everybody gotta know that you’re mine.”

And you would love his possessiveness, you would find it cute. But at that moment, you’re too focused on not making a sound, while your eyes are stuck on that door besides you, praying that it doesn’t open and someone catches you both.

“You biting back moans, baby?” He asks, his hand going down to find your clit, rolling the nub between his fingers. “C’mon make those sounds you always make. Do it for daddy.”

A moan erupts from your throat at the way Joel calls himself ‘daddy’. He hums in satisfaction, now hips bucking into you faster than ever.

“Please, Joel—god,” another one. Another loud moan, because now he found that spot in you. That sweet, soft spot in you that makes your eyes roll back to your skull. Joel smirks, already knowing, punching over and over to that spot.

“Hm, that’s what I like to hear. Keep ‘em coming, sweet—”

“Joel what the fuck was tha—”

Your eyes widen in horror as you look Tommy straight into the eyes. He holds the door open with one hand, his other one on his hip, while his eyes are just widened the way yours are.

Embarrassment rushes through your bones. Your cheeks heat up and as if that wasn’t bad enough—Joel isn’t stopping. You look into Tommy’s eyes while your body moves against Joel thrusts.

“Fuckin’ go back inside.” Joel spits out, his hands just squeezing harder against your hips.

Tommy’s eyes shift from yours to his. “Y’know there is a whole damn town inside, right?”

“They ain’t my concern,” Joel says, while Tommy’s eyes land on yours again. You look down quickly, too embarrassed to look at him now.

“Jesus christ, Joel. Plenty of women your age in there already.”

Your heart thuds at that, but Joel doesn’t add up. He says, louder this time. “Get the fuck inside,” his thrusts growing sharper.

Tommy hesitates, glances at you, then back at Joel. Whatever he sees in his brother’s eyes makes him step back. He doesn’t say another word. Just turns and disappears through the door.

Joel slows down his hips, one hand coming at your hair gently stroking it back.

“Don’t get all embarrassed on me now, baby,” he murmurs, “He saw what he saw. That don’t change shit. You’re still mine”

Your breathing starts to even out, focusing on the stroking of your hair. And one part of you likes it. Likes it the way Joel shows you off and can finally call you ‘mine’ in front of everyone.

One part even likes the part where Tommy caught you two.

“They’ll judge us,” you whisper weakly.

“You think I care? I could drag you back to the bar, like this, and show them myself.”

Joel feels the way you clench around his cock as he says that and smirks to himself. He knows his girl, his girl’s perverted mind and her fantasies. He knows there isn’t anything that’s going to stop her from getting wet for his cock.

“There we go, s’what I thought,” he says, his thrusts now picking up again. “Now, let me get what’s mine.”

I didn’t proofread this so sorry guys😔 I hope you like this anon!

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➺ joel checks the lengths of your skirts. there’s no leaving the house without him making you stand up straight with your arms at your sides. if the material doesn’t go past your fingertips, you can bet your ass you have to change

➺ he teases you whenever he can. at home, in public, in front of other people – he doesn’t care. a wandering hand between your thighs, a stolen kiss on your neck or a whisper that makes your face heat up. anything to get a reaction out of you, especially if it makes you shift your thighs closer together

➺ if you’ve been bratty, he will not kiss you. even once he’s spanked the attitude out of you, leaving behind a trembling, crying mess, he won’t give in, no matter how much you plead or apologise

➺ he likes to make you beg. cupping your mound, applying just a hint of pressure for what feels like hours. making you sit on his thigh and slowly dragging you up and down the length of it but never giving you the speed you needed. even spread out before him, he’ll edge you until you think release is on the horizon only to pull away at the last minute

➺ this man goes crazy for overstim. he’ll have you laid out in front of him, eating you out and pumping his thick fingers in and out of you until your thighs clench together, locking his hand in place. a condescending ‘tsk’ and his strong hands are already prying you open again

➺ god, he loves your tears. whether it stems from edging or overstimulating, he’ll coo at you. “pathetic little babydoll, hm?” he’ll put on that texas drawl that makes you drip when he talks down on you

➺ this man is a munch. but god, he loves your throat a little too much. down on your knees is one of the most beautiful positions for him. he’ll have you keep up eyecontact, his fingers set on your jaw to keep your gaze on him while he sinks inch after inch into you. he bullies the back of your throat with his tip until you swallow him down, then buries himself to the hilt until you can’t breathe and then some