Silver Leaf Commission For @deandraws

A fit of jealousy - Akaza x Reader x Douma

Synopsis: Douma's constant touches on you ignite a raging fire of jealousy in Akaza, causing him to grow increasingly angry

Akaza watched from a distance as Douma pulled you close, his arms wrapped around your waist as he whispered something in your ear. He could feel his blood boil as he watched the way you giggled and leaned into Douma's touch. It was becoming unbearable to watch his partner being constantly touched by Douma. As he approached the two of you, Douma gave him a smug grin before turning his attention back to you. Akaza gritted his teeth, trying to control the anger that was building up inside of him. He couldn't believe that Douma was so bold to touch his partner in front of him like that. "Douma," Akaza growled, his voice low and menacing. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"

Douma shrugged, releasing his hold on you. "Sure thing, Akaza-dono!"

As Akaza and Douma walked away, you watched them go with a confused expression. You had no idea what had just happened, but you knew it couldn't be good.

Once they were out of earshot, Akaza turned to Douma with a scowl. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you insist on touching Y/N like that?"

Douma rolled his eyes, clearly not intimidated by Akaza's anger. "Oh come on, Akaza-dono! You know there's nothing going on between us. It's just harmless fun, and I like her much."

Akaza's scowl deepened. "It's not harmless. It's disrespectful. You have no right to touch her like that."

Douma crossed his arms, a smirk on his face. "And who are you to tell me what I can and cannot do? Last time I checked, she's her own person, not your property."

Akaza's fists clenched at his sides. "I never said she was my property, but she is my partner. And as her partner, I expect you to show her some respect."

Douma raised an eyebrow. "And what if I don't? What are you going to do about it, Akaza-dono?"

Akaza took a step forward, his eyes blazing with anger. "If you don't stop touching her like that, I'll make you regret it."

Douma let out a laugh. "Is that a threat? I thought you were better than that, Akaza-dono! You're just jealous because you know you can't make her feel the way I do, and I'm not putting in much effort!"

Akaza's rage boiled over. Before he even realized what he was doing, he had swung a punch at Douma. In a swift and merciless motion, he struck Douma's head, severing upper part of his head from the rest. Blood sprayed everywhere, drenching the wooden floor with crimson.

As soon as Douma took the hit, his body reacted almost instantly. The wound that was inflicted on him started to regenerate, the demon's regenerative powers quickly healing the damaged tissue. Within moments, the wound had disappeared, leaving only a faint scar as evidence of the attack. Douma retaliated with a swipe of his fan.

Akaza dodged with ease, his eyes glinting with fury as he lunged forward again.

The two of them circled each other, both ready to fight. You trailed them into the adjacent chamber and watched with horror, not knowing what to do. You had never seen Akaza like this before, and it scared you. Akaza proved to be a devoted partner, with his caring nature and protective demeanor, yet when it came to Douma, his boundaries seemed to vanish. As the tension between Akaza and Douma escalated, you could feel the anger and resentment radiating off of them in waves. You knew that this argument was about to spiral out of control, and you couldn't let that happen. Without hesitation, you stepped between the two of them, facing Akaza and placing a gentle hand on his chest. "Enough. This is ridiculous. You're both acting like a bunch of children."

Akaza glared at Douma. "He's the one who started it." Akaza's eyes blazed with fury as he glared at Douma over your shoulder, but your presence seemed to have a calming effect on him. Slowly, he began to relax, his muscles unclenching as he took a deep breath.

Douma held up his hands in surrender. "Fine. You won, I'll back off. Just calm down, Akaza-dono! It's not worth getting this worked up over, but if anyone were to ask for my subjective opinion, which I doubt any of you care about or value, I would suggest seeking anger management classes or other means of controlling your recent aggressive behavior, Akaza-dono."

You turned to face the Upper Moon Two, giving him a stern look. "And you," you said, your tone firm but not unkind, "Don't you think you should be more respectful of Akaza's feelings?"

Douma's expression softened, and he nodded. "Well, maybe you're right," he grinned. "I'll be more careful in the future, although comprehending emotions is a challenging task for me…"

Akaza snorted derisively. Soon, he took a deep breath, his fists unclenching. He knew that you were right. He couldn't act like a fussy baby. You were the most important thing in his life, and he didn't want to risk losing you over something as stupid as jealousy.

As the tension between the two demons dissipated, you felt a sense of pride and satisfaction wash over you. You knew that you had helped them avoid a potentially disastrous confrontation, and you were grateful for the opportunity to keep the peace.

As the three of you walked away from the confrontation, Akaza pulled you close, his arm protectively wrapped around your waist. He knew that he couldn't stop Douma from being who he was, but he also knew that he would do anything to protect you.

Source.

𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

🏷️ Taglist: @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @astroboots @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @ofmortems @hold-our-destiny @xcatnapsx @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @moonnaught @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina

Infantry & Archers by Yang J

Cyno 🥺🫶

A repaint of my older work: Star Maker

The original 2019 version

𝓓𝓪𝔂 2 - My Praises || Jake Lockley x fem!reader

Summary: With the help of Jake, you discover the kink you didn't know you had.

Warnings: smut (praise kink, unprotected p in v, oral - m receiving, manhandling)

Word count: 2013

Author: Rouge

A/N: the prompt for today is: Praise Kink. orange italics - Jake speaking Spanish

It had been a long day at the office, without a single chance to text your boyfriend throughout the day. Finally you got a chance to check your phone.

[Jake ♥]: Want to play tonight, nena?

Quickly, you responded with a brief 'Obvs!' and rushed to your car.

You wondered what Jake would have planned as you drove home. You had been exploring sexuality a lot lately. There was a lot of talking, but that just heightened the excitement. You were thrilled that he was taking the initiative again, as he always did.

You parked your car on a driveway, ran home, took off your heels, and slipped out of your blouse, leaving you in your pencil skirt and lacy, half-transparent bra. When you looked in the mirror, you sighed, wishing you had more time to pick a better bra. As you traced your breasts, you realized that you'd never made much of an impression based on your standards: average yet lean body, Y/E/C eyes and Y/H/C hair. You were nothing special in your own opinion. Yet, for some reason, Jake Lockley wanted you, not just as a longtime friend, but also as his life partner.

The moment Jake stepped in, you stared at your stocking-clad legs wondering whether to remove them as well.

A cocky smile spread across his lips as he claimed, "Now, that's an image I like coming home to."

When you looked up, he came forward and wrapped his strong arms around you. Then he bent over to kiss your neck with a smile on his face.

Jake whispered, "You turn me on, little doll. Vamos, sé una buena niña y tocar tus pechos por mí," as he gently nibbled at your neck, making you gasp and let out a soft moan.

Languidly, you complied, tracing the outline of your breasts as they were caged in the lacy bra.

An eye-catching smirk flashed across Jake's face when he looked in the mirror. As he tugged the lobe of your ear with his teeth, he whispered, "Yes, just like that. You're so obedient, pequeña puta. You have such pretty boobs," Lockley smiled, sliding his hands to rest on your hips, teasing the edge of your pencil, fitted, black skirt which he loved so much.

In response to his praise and crass language, you squirmed, palming your breasts through the bra. As he undid your skirt, he pulled the material down to reveal your white panties and black thigh high stockings.

With his teeth clenched, he hissed. "Eres tan sexy, nena,” Jake whispered, placing a kiss on your shoulder, trailing his hand till it lightly touched your panties. "You already have a wet spot on your panties," he joked lowly, lightly passing over the spot and smirking as you gasped. "Such a good doll, already wet for her papi."

Letting out a moan, you rested your head on his shoulder. Just by his words you became weak in the knees. "It's your fault, Jake. You make me so wet," you whispered to him, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

His hand cupped your pussy over your panties. "Good. You're so pretty when you're wet. And moaning, just for me, muñequita."

Your pussy twitched as you felt more pussy juice leak out; you parted your lips and tried to rub your thighs together.

Jake commanded in a low, husky tone, "Quítate el sostén, let me see those gorgeous tits."

You looked back to the mirror, trying to see if he was joking, but he looked completely serious. It was not difficult for you to comply, letting your bra fall on the floor as you watched his reaction.

His eyes stayed focused on your chest, tongue swiping at his upper lip. Jake whispered in your ear, "I love your tits, so perky," before licking the space behind your ear. "Your nipples look so gorgeous now, pinch them for me," he ordered as he moved from cupping your pussy to squeezing your ass.

Keeping your face on him, you reached up to cup your breasts, stroking them softly. They felt fuller under Jake's gaze somehow. While gasping and mumbling, you teased your nipples and pinch them.

"Eres una buena muchacha, bebé," Jake praised with a smirk on his lips. "Feel how hard you make me, muñequita." As he pressed his clothed cock against your ass, you instinctively rolled your hips to rub your bum against his crotch. Instinctively, you tried to turn and undress him, but he held you facing the mirror. 

"Keep pinching your nipples for me," Jake demanded as he began undressing behind you.

You followed his lead, pinching your nipples, rolling them in your fingers. You watched as he quickly took off his black, leather jacket and blue shirt; his large hands coming around to grip your breasts. "You have such pretty tits, I want to suck them all day, chiquita."

While he pinched and pulled your nipples, you moaned and grinded your ass against his clothed cock. You blinked when he shifted his hands down and felt him kneel behind you. You watched, panting, as he placed a kiss at the top of your stockings. After a moment, he slapped your ass and removed his shoes and socks.

You jolted and turned to watch him, kneeling before you. You gently scraped your nails through his thick locks. You loved hearing him groan, "That feels good, nena."

When his shoes and socks were off, Jake stood and unbuckled his pants. "Take off your panties," he said, staring hard into Y/E/C eyes.

Shimmying out of your wet panties, you were eager to please him.

Lockley raked his eyes over your figure and for a moment you felt self conscious until he spoke. "Oh, Dios Mío, eres tan sexy, nena."

You bit your lip, looking him over. "So are you," you whispered in response.

All he gave you was a smirk before he kissed you hard, tongue sweeping all over your mouth. Sucking on your tongue, he grunted; your nails scraping down his back. Then, all of a sudden, his fingers were teasing your pussy. Slowly, he let go of your kiss, biting your bottom lip. "I love you like this, wet and so ready for me," Jake whispered as he pushed two fingers inside you, coaxing that sponge spot inside your pussy.

You clutched Jake’s shoulders, trying to stay upright as your knees buckled and you moaned while he played your pussy like a violin. Just as suddenly Jake pulled out his fingers only to raise them to your mouth.

Keeping your eyes on him, you sucked his fingers clean off your pussy juice, bobbing your head back and forth slowly, earning a deep grunt from him.

Gently, he removed his fingers from your mouth and gave you a kiss before turning you around and gathering your hair into a low ponytail. Jake smiled as he kissed your forehead, saying, "Such a good girl, so sweet and innocent. I want you so fucking badly,” he added, kissing the side of your neck, only to start sucking on the delicate skin of yours.

After tracing your fingers down his chest and stomach, you finally gained confidence. "How do you want me?"

Before responding, Jake chuckled and bit your neck, sucking it for a moment. "I want you to suck my cock. My dick has been aching for your lips to wrap around it all day, nena."

You didn't need to be told twice. You sank to the floor and dragged down his pants, freeing his thick, hard cock as you watched his face. You gently wrapped your hand around it. While you licked up from the shaft and circled his head, you kept your eyes on his face. You loved hearing his quiet gasps and groans.

His large hand came to gather your hair, tugging it softly. "You're so good at that, nena," Jake cooed, and you moaned in response before taking the tip into your mouth. Sheathing your teeth, you started bobbing your head on his cock, still paying attention to him.

"You are a great cock sucker,” Jake praised, licking his lower lip slowly as he watched you closely.

He encouraged you to speed up and close your eyes while you enjoyed the taste of his cock in your mouth. You pulled him out of your mouth for a moment; a string of saliva connecting you as your drool dripped down your chin and landed on your breasts. You kept your eyes on Jake and let your tongue hang out a little before you took his cock back into your mouth.

"Fuck yes, nena, your throat feels good on my cock," Jake praised again, massaging the back of your head.

You groaned as he spoke and tugged your hair harder. Your pussy twitched as you listened to the lewd sounds of his cock slipping in and out of your mouth. 

"You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” Jake groaned before he pulled your hair up, directing you to release him. His cock came out of your mouth with a pop, saliva dripping off his shaft; you licked it clean before standing.

Lockley guided you gently to your bed, bending you in front of him, applying just a little pressure to your lower back. As he stood behind you, he pulled a few pillows and placed them under your hips. "Eres tan buena chica,” Jake muttered before he slid his cock in your dripping, wet pussy from behind in one hard thrust.

You both groaned.

You shivered and clenched on his cock.

Slowly, he pulled back to the tip before thrusting forward again to the hilt.

"Fuck,” you cursed quietly, loving how his cock felt inside you.

Lockley started setting a steady pace, thrusting to the hilt, out to the tip and back. "Your pussy feels so good on my cock," Jake panted as he continued, "Tan mojado, calientito y apretado.” He bent forward and bit the back of your neck as he thrust in you again. "Tal un buen coño."

The way he fucked you was so good, and he knew just what to say to make you want more. "I love your cock in me,” you panted out as you matched his thrusts.

He groaned and started to move faster. "Such a sexy girl," he muttered as he picked up the pace. "You like how I fuck you?" Jake asked, tugging at your hair.

You raised your head, turning it slightly to look up at him, moaning "Fuck, yes!”

This was all Lockley needed, and he surged forward pounding his cock in your pussy, grunting deeply at the feeling of your pussy squeezing his cock nicely.

You loved when he got rough. Eventually, your arms gave out and you laid your chest back on the bed.

"Buena niña,” Jake said, holding tight to your hips as he kept up his delicious pace. "Good girl, taking my cock so well,” he groaned out as he gained speed. His breath indicated he was getting closer. Jake stuttered around his panting breath. "Where do you want my cum?"

"Inside," you whimpered breathlessly. "Please, cum inside me, daddy. Tell me I’m your good girl, please!” You pleaded, getting closer and closer to your peak.

After a few more sharp thrusts, he pulled you over the edge with him, slamming into your core. He stayed there for a moment leaning over to press into your back. "You like my cum inside you?" Jake asked, brushing his cheek against your nape. "I love cumming in you, my little doll, pleasing her papi so well," he pressed a few kisses on your shoulder before withdrawing, leaving you feeling strangely empty.

"Thank you, Jake, it was amazing,” you whispered, stroking his cheek and looking deeply into his dark, hazel eyes.

Jake smiled and turned to kiss your hand before he moved you both to cuddle together. "Did you like it, nena? All the praises?”

You smiled, turning to kiss his nose. “"I didn't know I had a praise kink. Thanks to you, I am discovering myself every single day."

Unmasked comparison of Haganezuka's rage

Thank you ufotable for this gem xD