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toxicanonymity · 5 months

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The Raid, Part 2.

panty-dropping javi art by @bonezone44

8k words | dark!javi x f!reader x dark!steve | The Raid SUMMARY: Javi and his partner get you settled in. WARNINGS: I8+ dubcon (captivity & more), kidnapping, drugs, mild withdrawal, manhandling, sharing, degradation, praise, homoerotic tension, thigh fucking, somnophilia (javi), p in v (steve, but Javi's involved), orgasm denial, cumplay, size kink if you squint, mfm adjacent, hillbilly cock. Javi & Steve RECS: Lie Still by @milla-frenchy , Crossing Lines by @lunitawrites , Helping Hands and Polaroids by @clawdee , You can be the boss by @girlboybug . TY all!! A/N: Could've been 2 parts (4.4k/3.6k) so there's a divider (ty @cafekitsune) if you want 2 reads. Ty @debbiequinn for your sleep thot and @ghoulettesinspace for your styling thots. Tagged people who asked for part 2 at the end.

✨NEXT: Javi isn't home - Steve PWP.

The DEA has left the scene, aside from Javi and his tall, blonde partner. The partner managed to catch your (ex) boyfriend while Javi was “supervising” you. Javi has given his men a talking-to and told them you were never there. With a strong grip on your arm, he's dragged you to a Ford Bronco where he's now forcing you into the back seat.

"My shirt," you beg.

Javi shrugs mercilessly. "Should've put it on before you ran." He glances at your bra before beginning to shut the car door.

He and his partner talk outside the car. Javi stands with his hands tucked into the top of his vest. The taller man leans with one hand just above the back seat window and his other hand on his hip. He ducks down to look at you, but doesn't acknowledge you. He asks Javi, "You sure we need to be drivin' around with her half dressed?"

"What'd I say?”

The blonde agent holds his hands up in mock defense. “No Carrillo, no questions." He walks around front to the driver's seat. You have a better view of him once he's seated. He's strong, like Javi. He has a thick mustache, too.

Javi gets in the passenger seat and puts on a voice like he's teaching a class and would rather be anywhere else. He addresses you by name, then says, "This is Steve Murphy."

Steve nods in the rear view mirror, and your eyes meet. Then he turns on the engine and asks Javi, "safe house?"

Javi tilts his head back and smooths his mustache. “Mm,” he contemplates.

Steve offers, "I'll head to the closest one."

Javi answers, "No. My place."

"Yours?"

"Yeah, you know, the place I live? Right downstairs?"

Steve raises his eyebrows. "Alright." After a few moments of silence, Steve asks, "informant?"

"Eh," Javi ponders. "We'll see." He puts a cigarette in his mouth, then takes the cigarette lighter out of its socket and lights up. Javi reaches down to crank the window open a little more, then exhales, aiming the smoke outside. He asks, "We need to worry about Romeo?" as he hands the cigarette to Steve.

“Nah,” Steve replies as he accepts the cigarette. He looks at the tip of the filter and takes one puff before handing it back to Javi. Steve exhales out the window, then reaches back and puts his hand behind Javi's seat to put the car in reverse.

"Nah,” Steve repeats. “Don’t gotta worry ‘bout that dumbass. . .Told him we'd fuck her in front of him, know what he said?”

“What?” Javi asks, bemused.

“He said go ahead." You’re not surprised.

"Ouch," Javi pretends to sympathize, then looks back to check on you. "Sorry, sweetheart."

—-

Once they get you to the apartment, the first thing they do is take you to the bathroom. You have to walk through a bedroom to get there. In the middle of the bedroom, there's a bed with leather restraints. It makes your stomach turn to look at.

Steve’s eyes fixate on it and he asks Javi, "You kept this stuff?"

Javi retorts, "Where'd you think it went, the Salvation Army?”

Javi pauses to take off his tactical vest. “Let’s wash that place off her.”

“C’mon,” Steve gently urges you by the arm toward the bathroom. You go in the restroom and stand, awkwardly awaiting instructions. You lean your back against the wall and the handcuffs drag.

Steve plugs the drain and turns on the water. Javi walks in, takes out the keys and uncuffs you. Steve retires to the doorway and leans against it, tucking his hands into the top of his tactical vest and watching. He seems to take up the whole frame.

There's a toilet next to the bathtub/shower combo. Javi closes the lid and sits down, facing you, and manspreads in his tight jeans. His shirt is stained with sweat, and the glimmer of a gold chain catches your eye on his tan chest. Javi pats his thigh closest to the tub. You sit on his thigh, facing the door and Steve. Javi strokes your face, and you look down at the floor, cheeks warm, heart racing.

“It’s okay,” Javi tells you, “Vamos a ponerte limpia y lista para una vida nueva.” (We’re gonna get you clean and ready for a new life). He unclasps your bra and you let it fall off into your lap. Javi tosses it to Steve, saying, “Check the closet out there.”

Javi reaches over to feel the water, then rests his large hand between your shoulder blades. “Now take off your pants.” He gives you a gentle push out of his lap.

You stand again and remove your pants. Javi stays seated.

You’re cowering with your arms in front of you, but Javi beckons you with a hooked finger. You come to stand between his knees. He nudges your inner elbows and you let your arms fall out of the way.

“Good girl,” he mutters, not taking his eyes off your tits. His hands come to your chest without even a glance to your face. He lightly massages your breasts until both nipples are erect. He slots both his hands under your armpits and thumbs your nipples, then slides his palms down to your hips where he hooks his thumbs into your panties and keeps going, bringing them down to the floor.

Steve comes back from the closet and sets some clothes on the bathroom counter.

Javi looks over and tells him, “Keep Carillo off my back for a while.”

Steve nods and leaves. “Hasta luego!” he shouts with an American accent on his way out.

Javi chuckles and shakes his head.

Javi eyes the water level of the tub and turns off the faucet. “How do you feel?” he asks you with kind eyes.

“Fine,” you mutter without meeting his gaze.

He extends his hand for you, and you hold it for balance. You dip a toe in and it’s lukewarm. “Get in.” He nods toward the bath and you do. He takes off his shoes and socks and puts them outside the door, then cuffs his jeans.

“How’s the water?” He asks then reaches under the sink, and you watch his ass strain his pants as he gets a bath poof.

“Uh, good.” Your answer echoes off the tile.

He sits on the side of the tub and uses a light orange bar of soap to make some lather, then scrubs you. He holds you with one hand for leverage while he scrubs you with the other. He starts with your arms, and your neck. He's not gentle.

“Ow,” you mutter at one point.

“Ay, pobrecita” (poor little girl). “You're going to feel so clean,” he reassures you. He makes you lift your arms. Then each leg. The tub squeaks under you as you scoot forward. He scrubs your legs and between your thighs. He does your breasts and your back. His arm muscles flex with his effort. When he leans over you to reach your other side, his back muscles strain his shirt and his gold chain escapes from his collar, revealing a little cross on it.

“You’re bottoming out,” he mutters.

“Huh?”

“In life.” He pauses and makes sure you're looking at him as he explains this. “It’s a good thing. Know why?”

You stare at him vacantly.

“Once you hit rock bottom, you go back up.”

You look away, and your cheeks burn. You get it, he found you at a low point, he doesn’t have to rub it in. It doesn't feel great.

Javi washes your stomach and downward. He gets close to your intimate parts, but he's clinical about it. He gets you up on your knees and scrubs your bottom. He flattens his hand and slides the side of it down your crack, making you gasp with an unexpected rush of warmth to your core.

Your skin feels almost numb in some areas by the time he's done bathing you. Then he lathers a softer sponge and washes you more gently. He drains the tub and takes his time lazily rinsing you. When he's finished, he turns on the shower and tells you to make sure he got it all.

Once you’re squeaky clean, he dries you off with a pale, yellow, threadbare towel. He inspects the clothes on the counter. It’s a Hawaiian shirt much too large to be Javi’s. Some pants, too, but he only puts the Hawaiians shirt on you. You eye your underwear on the floor, but Javi bends down and snatches it up before you have the chance to collect it.

“I’ll start some laundry,” he offers.

—. . .----

Javi makes pork and beans for dinner. While you’re eating, someone jogs up the stairs outside. “Steve’s right upstairs,” Javi tells you. “Ever need anything and I’m not here, just yell.” He takes a bite of his beans. “He’s a better cook, too,” he smiles with his eyes.

During a quiet moment, you’re startled by the sound of a woman moaning from upstairs. You look up at the ceiling.

[ohhhh, she whines. give it to me.]

“Just a porno,” Javi tells you with a smirk.

“So,” He studies your face. “What did you want to be when you grew up?”

“You make it sound like my life is over.”

“No, there’s still time,” he shrugs.

You refuse to answer.

[upstairs, a man’s voice joins in. oh yeah, take it, baby.]

Javi tries, “Favorite color?”

You don’t answer that either.

[yeah, just like that]

“That’s okay,” he says. “We’ve got all the time in the world to get to know each other.”

“You can't keep me here forever, if that's what you're trying to do.”

Javi’s eyebrows knit in concern. "Oh, sweetheart.” With sad eyes, he asks, “You really think someone will report you missing?"

"I have a job," you protest.

“Oh,” he sounds fakely impressed. “Well. . . Be a good girl, and I'll get you a better one.”

Upstairs, a deeper, clearer voice sighs, “Ohh, fuck,” making you squeeze your thighs together. That has to be Steve. It sounds like him.

[Steve sighs and grunts over the faint sounds from the television.]

You bite your lip and look away.

Javi lowers his head and raises his eyebrows at you. He reaches for your face and smirks as he makes you look at him. “Like what ya hear?” Blood rushes to your face. He chuckles as he lowers his hand.

[A long groan from Steve.]

Oh, wow. You wonder if Javi will notice the wet spot under you. You take a deep breath. When you regain your focus, he’s studying your eyes with an amused sparkle in his. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he nods, then pats your cheek.

“He’s a good guy,” Javi adds, then looks upward in thought. He tilts his head back and forth as though debating himself. “Kind of.” He pushes a glass of water toward you. “Drink.”

—-

When it’s time to sleep, Javi takes you to the bedroom you walked through on the way in. He watches your face as you eye the bed with its restraints.

“You’ve been pretty good so far,” Javi muses. “Maybe we don’t need this yet.”

“Please,” you beg. “I promise I’ll behave.”

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Fine.”

“Alright, then. I’m not sure if you’ll like the other option much better, though.”

He brings you to his room and heads toward the closet, which rolls open with a four-panel door. you wouldn’t really mind sleeping in Javi’s bed with him, but that’s not what he has in mind. He pulls out an old futon mattress with a striped fitted blanket and throws it on the floor. “You can choose where to sleep, how’s that?”

“Here,” you answer without hesitation and he chuckles.

“Muy bien, pobrecita. But I *am* going to have to secure you.” He takes his handcuffs out and cuffs one to a radiator under the window. Then, with his foot, he pushes the futon mattress over to it.

“Really?” You ask. “I promise I’ll be good.”

“I believe you. But you need protection from yourself right now.”

His bed has plenty of room for both of you. He’s just being an ass.

Javi lets you watch television, sitting side by side with him on his sofa. He periodically looks at you skeptically, as though wondering if you’ll make a run for the door, but you don’t. It sure has been a long day. You yawn.

“Ready for bed?” Javi asks.

You nod.

There’s a knock at the door.

It’s Steve. He’s come by to drop off a couple of bags. One is from the grocery store. Javi steps into the breezeway to talk for a couple of minutes. When he comes back in, he brings the grocery bag to the table and puts the others aside. In the grocery bag, there are brand new toiletries for you, including a toothbrush.

Javi takes you to the bathroom and watches you while you brush your teeth, then he brings one of the other shopping bags into the bedroom. There’s a nightgown. The material is thin and it’s on the shorter side. Not exactly modest. Javi puts it on you, and at least it’s more comfortable than whomever’s shirt you were wearing.

He gives you a thin pillow and pats the mattress for you to lie down. He cuffs you to the radiator. Then he goes to another room and comes back with a blanket. He tucks you in.

“If you need to go to the bathroom or anything, just wake me up, okay?” He moves your wrist to clank the handcuffs on the radiator in demonstration. “I hope tonight won’t be bad, but you might start to feel sick, or get chills. That’s normal okay?”

You nod.

He pats your head affectionately and bids you goodnight. “Sweet dreams, mi pobrecita.” He goes to the bathroom to shower and brush his teeth. When he comes back in the room, you try not to watch him, but you hear him rustling around near the bed. You tilt your head up enough to steal a quick glance, and he’s taking off his shirt. He doesn’t get in his bed right away, but eventually you hear the mattress creak.

—--

You wake up in the middle of the night feeling a little queasy, but you’re unsure if it’s the circumstances, the beans, or the detox. You can’t tell if you’re hot or cold, but this sleeping arrangement is not doing you any favors. You don’t want to wake Javi up, but the night feels like it might last forever otherwise. You rattle the cuffs against the metal.

“Ay, pobrecita,” he whispers. “Okay, I’m coming.” He gets out of bed.

He approaches you, barefoot. As soon as he kneels down, he mutters, “Ay, cabrón” (oh, bastard) under his breath and returns to his nightstand for the key.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you when he comes back. He uncuffs you. As you sit up, he helps you with a warm hand on your back. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah, of course,” Javi responds as if he didn’t handcuff you to a radiator.

As he helps you up from the floor, something brushes your thigh and makes you tingle. Your body knows what it is before you do. When you register what grazed your leg through his sleep shorts, your face heats up and the tingle turns into a throb. Javi walks you to his bathroom with one arm around you in case you have trouble. He takes you all the way to the toilet. “You good?” he asks.

“Yeah, do you mind if I?”

“Sure.” He backs up into the doorframe, but he doesn’t close it. You glance over, and he’s not hiding the massive tent in his shorts. He’s not shy about it at all. He’s also not trying to do anything about it. “Alright, I’ll be right here.” He closes the door halfway and stands outside. You sit there for a few minutes on the cool tile in front of the toilet. The urge to be sick has passed. He peeks his head in to check on you. “How about some water?”

“Okay,” you nod. He comes in and helps you up, hard-on still blazing. He takes an empty, upside-down glass from his clean bathroom counter, fills it up, and hands it to you. You’re aching at the silhouette of his length just casually standing at attention. It takes all your energy not to look right at his shorts.

“Good girl,” he gently palms the back of your head.

You try to look anywhere but down. You focus on his bare chest. His chain drapes over his collar bone and sits above his strong, golden pecs. There’s a light smattering of dark, soft hair. And then, lower, a happy trail. You yank your eyes away. You look at the counter: A brush, a comb. Maybe he does his mustache with that. You look at his hair. It’s messy, out of place. Bedhead looks good on him. He casually rakes his hand through it when he sees you looking. Your gaze drifts back to his body. It’s really a beautiful torso you’re looking at. Broad shoulders, strong arms, narrow waist. A hint of abs under the light padding of his flesh.

“You okay?” he asks with his puppy dog eyes, which gives you an idea.

“Yeah.” You look up at him, widen your eyes, and let your face fall.

He nods. “Back to bed?”

You hold your wrist as if it hurts from the cuff and nod sadly. You check his shorts in the corner of your eye–yeah, it’s still there, as commanding as ever. The tent bobs as he walks. He walks you back into the bedroom and pauses at your futon mattress on the floor. He reaches for your hand and holds it as his other thumb brushes the indentation on your wrist.

“You’re sure you don’t want the bed?” He nods toward the other room with the restraints.

“I’d love a bed, but no. That one’ll give me nightmares, I’m sure.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Are you asking to sleep in *my* bed?” His thumb continues to brush the indentation from the cuffs. His light touch gives you butterflies.

“It’s okay,” you reassure him and your hand joins his, on your wrist. His thumb freezes. Your fingers rest lightly on top of his. “I guess I’m okay down there.” You glance at the mattress on the floor.

His bare chest rises with a deep breath. “You’re being such a good girl,” he marvels with your hand on his. “Come on. It’s okay.” He guides you to his bed and pauses when you’re right in front of it. He faces you and puts his hands on your shoulders. He dips his head and his tone darkens. “But if you leave this bed, things are going to change here,” he warns. “And you’re not going to like it.” He shakes his head. The gentleness of his voice and the look on his face sends a chill down your spine.

Javi gets into his bed, under the covers. He lays on his side and makes room for you, albeit not much. “I still have to restrain you,” he informs you as you lie down. “Do you want the cuffs or my arm?”

“Your arm.”

“Good girl.” He extends one arm and raises the other, making room for you.

You scoot back against him, mentally bracing yourself for what awaits under the covers. You're already twitching before you feel it. He inhales sharply as the hardness in his shorts hits you. With a hand on your lower abdomen, he pulls you into him, and his stiff length presses against you.

“I’m sure that’s not going to bother you, is it?” he asks and your breath hitches. You shake your head just barely on the off chance he wanted a real answer. But it is, it's going to bother you as long as he won't put it in you. You’re human, you can’t help it. He’s a bad person but you can only imagine what a good lay. He curls his strong, lean body around you like a big spoon, and he nestles the warm rod in his shorts against your crack.

One bicep is under your neck. His other arm settles over your waist. You don’t need to test his strength to know his arm is solid. Heavy. There’s no escaping as long as he holds this position.

He inhales your hair, and the hand in front of you cups your breast through your thin nightgown. He slowly palms your breast, and lightly grinds against you. You can’t help but push back on him. The shape of his arousal against you makes you salivate.

He whispers just above your ear. “Sure do love cock, don’t you?”

As he thrusts against you at a slow, steady rhythm, his hand slides off your breast, down your gown, sliding over your stomach and down to the fleshy triangle where your thighs meet. His hand stays flat. He doesn’t dig between your legs. He gently presses your mound, bringing you back against him harder as his cock throbs even harder against you.

“That can be a good thing for recovery,” he offers. “You need something to replace that high.”

He thrusts against you slower, lighter. It’s excruiating. “Mmm.” He begins to gather the nightgown’s fabric into a fist, raising the hem of the gown and exposing more of you to the air between the sheets. No underwear.

His hand rests on the bare skin of your lower abdomen, then slides down just low enough that his middle finger can tease your most sensitive place. He slides further down until his middle finger reaches the pool between your legs and he growls almost silently. He begins to move his fingers between your legs. Slowly, expertly, leaving his thumb and pinky braced on your front. The movement is just enough to drive you crazy. His index and middle fingers slide through your dripping folds and apply pressure to your swollen bud, moving to the rhythm of his gentle thrusts against your crack.

“Mm,” your moan is barely audible.

“Ohh, I know,” Javi coos reassuringly. “I know.” He ruts against you slowly. He sighs as he moves against you. The heft of his arousal pushing against both asscheeks makes you weak. If only he’d just stuff your pussy. You can hardly stand it. He must feel you gush on his fingers. “Oh, yeah,” he whispers into your hair. His throbbing erection grinds against you. His hand leaves your cunt and you feel cold, exposed. He pulls down the waistband of his shorts, then his hand–wet fingers and all–slightly lifts your thigh, making your heart skip a beat.

He wedges his naked cock between your thighs, right against your cunt, and you gasp. His swollen tip glides through your wetness and you moan, “Ohh.” He slowly slides forward and back through the warm, wet pocket made by your thighs and cunt. You push back against him. “Mm,” he grunts softly as his tip reaches your clit.

His hand returns to your breast. He massages your breast as his cock keeps sliding between your thighs and nudging your sensitive bud just right. “Javi,” you whisper. “Please.” His cock hesitates at your entrance, and you tilt your hips.

“Not today, sweetheart.”

With a small thrust, he bypasses your wet little hole again.

Then he stops moving. You push your ass back into him, and he does nothing but tighten his arm over you. He cradles your breast gently. You’re throbbing, aching to have him inside you. It feels like an eternity you’re lying like this with his arousal throbbing against your naked heat. You begin to feel a chill again and reach for the blanket to wrap yourself tighter. He helps you, then murmurs. “Good night” into your hair.

The comfort of his arms and rhythm of his breath lulls you to sleep sooner than you expect.

—-...------

Just after daybreak, you awake to the sound of Javi breathing heavily as his cock slides against your wet cunt again. Your chest is hot and fluttering. He’s aggressively groping one breast, then shifts to the other with a grunt and harsh thrust. Your body shifts as you wake up. He pants, “Morning sunshine,” and you push your ass back against him.

“Was I good?” you ask.

“Ohh,” he moans, “You were good.”

His hand comes between your legs and you gasp at the pressure of his thick fingers on your clit. He doesn’t move them, just rests his hand there, then asks “Would you like to cum?”

You nod, “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please,” you whine as his cock glides against you.

He slows way down. “Because I’m only giving you one today. You sure you want it already?”

“Yeah,” you confirm.

“It’s not even seven a.m.”

“Please, Javi.”

He begins to move his thick fingers, and it doesn’t take long at all before you’re seeing stars.

“Ohh,” you moan as the waves of pleasure begin to overtake you. Your body spasms, and your walls clench around nothing.

“Mmmm, mi putita. . .por supuesto ahorita” (My little slut. Of course right now), Javi purrs into your hair. “That’s the–ohhh–thing with addicts,” he pants as he chases his own orgasm. “You want everything right–mmm—now–ohhhh.” As Javi begins to cum, he moves his hand from your clit to his cock. His cock pulses against you, and it’s too easy to imagine it inside you. He cups his hand and seals it over his tip and your front. He slowly thrusts as he cums. He slides against you, coating your folds and clit with his warm spend as your own climax fades.

When Javi is empty, he withdraws his cock, but keeps his hand in place. He rubs his spend over your oversensitive parts, making you flinch and moan.

“Ohh, I know it sweetheart.”

A thick digit breaches your entrance, pushing some cum into you, and he sighs.

“One day, pobrecita. One day.” He adds another finger. “Voy a llenar esta concha con leche” (I’m gonna fill this pastry/cunt with milk/cum).

Your first morning waking up at Javi’s place, he lets you sit at the kitchen counter and watch him make huevos rancheros and cactus.

Over breakfast, he asks, “What do you like to do?”

You shrug.

“Because getting high replaced all your hobbies,” he concludes.

“That's not true.”

“It's not? Then what do you do? Draw? Write? Do you read?”

You scoff. “Yes, I read,” you say with an eye roll and can’t help but add, “Did kidnapping replace all your hobbies?”

There's an instant surge of regret in your chest, but Javi chuckles and lets it slide. “What kind of books? I could pick one up for you.”

You swallow, rest your fork, and ask, “really?”

“Sure,” He nods.

“Okay. Maybe a mystery,” you offer, only because you know you'll need the distraction.

“Good,” he nods. “A mystery.”

Later that day, Javi has to go into the office. He leaves a glass of water for you, a bucket just in case, and he cuffs you to the radiator. He reassures you Steve will come check on you as soon as he gets home. You try your best to get comfortable on the futon mattress.

As soon as Javi leaves, things go somewhat downhill. You have a headache, then your stomach begins to bother you, and the handcuffs are driving you crazy. You’re anxious. You're horny. You’re cold. Why are you horny? After about an hour, you rattle the cuffs on the radiator. When nothing happens, you yell for Steve, then hear movement upstairs.

When Steve comes into Javi’s apartment, you hear him open the door, but it doesn’t sound like it shuts all the way. His footsteps are loud as they approach through the living room. Steve unlocks Javi’s bedroom and pauses in the doorframe. “There she is.” He rests his hands on the top of the doorframe and leans forward, stretching his back as he takes in the scene. “Damn,” he mutters. “You alright?”

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“Yeah, darlin’.” He digs into Javi’s nightstand for the key. “Hold on.” He comes over and crouches down on the floor. He smells like cigarettes, and he must smoke the same brand as Javi.

You're mildly surprised by the way your body reacts to Steve’s proximity. You squeeze your legs together, self conscious that you’re gushing. The day before, you were so focused on Javi that you didn’t think much of Steve at the time. But after overhearing him jack off. . .There’s something about hearing a man make those primal noises. It changes his whole face, his whole presence in your eyes.

“C’mere,” Steve offers and extends his massive hands, looming over you. You sit up on your knees, careful not to expose yourself with no panties. He slots his hands under your arms and helps you to your feet. He checks you out and raises an eyebrow. You wonder if he can see through your nightgown. “He’s still got ya in your PJs, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s alright.”

“Looks good on ya, anyway.”

Steve ushers you to the restroom and waits outside. You’re starting to feel a little better already, just having someone around again. His presence distracts your body from its woes.

When you’re out of the restroom, Steve asks if you need anything else. You ask for a glass of juice. He brings you to the kitchen to get some. The sound of children playing outside echoes from the breezeway and you notice the door isn’t shut flush. Before you can really think about it, you begin to walk toward the door, heart pounding. You’re barefoot, and realistically, you’re not going to try to flee, but you want to know you could. You’re not running, you’re walking slowly, curiously as though pulled by a weak magnet toward a chance at freedom.

Steve crosses the room in two strides and steps right into your path. His massive arm wraps around you, halting you dead in your tracks. “Wouldn't do that.” His face is stone. Instinctively, you begin to struggle, not to escape, but to get out of his strong grip. His body overwhelms yours.

His arm tightens, and you whine, “Ow.”

He shakes you once, then loosens his grip. He brings his mouth to your hair and lowers his voice. “Don't make me hurt ya, sugar.” He wraps his arm around your middle and begins to drag you toward the bedroom with the creepy bed. He wrangles you over to the bed with the straps. You don’t resist much, but he’s rough with you anyway.

“Okay, okay,” you tell him. “I’m sorry.”

He throws you down on the bed and pins you with his weight, then begins to strap you in, limb by limb. Your heart is racing. But you don’t feel sick at all anymore. All you feel is the rush.

“Ya know, I should tell Agent Peña ‘bout this,” Steve mutters as he buckles your wrist.

“No, don’t. Tell him I was good. Please. I wasn’t trying to do anything.”

“Yeah, alright. We’ll see.” The bed is probably full sized. Wider than a twin. The leg restraints are spaced out enough that you feel like you’re spread eagle.

Once you’re all strapped down, Steve slowly paces next to the bed looking at you like a piece of meat.

He asks, “True you were beggin’ for cock?”

“No,” you answer as a gut reaction.

“Ya weren't? Huh. Peña’s a liar?”

“He–he got me all worked up on purpose.”

Steve freezes near the foot of the bed and cracks a smile. “So it is true. . .Hmm.” He tilts his head contemplatively. “How'd he do that? Get ya all worked up.” He dangles his fingers to graze your bare ankle. Then he walks back up toward your head, dragging his fingertips over your shin. His fingers lightly circles your kneec twice, then continue up your thigh. He pauses and strokes an abstract pattern on your inner thigh.

You don’t answer him. You don’t have to. He’s already having an effect on you.

“Well, don't worry. I'm not gonna hold out on ya. Want somethin’ from me, sugar? Just ask.”

“Thanks.”

“It's ok, baby.” He lowers his voice. “Really don't mind one bit.” He looks at you hungrily and wets his lips. His fingers get closer and closer to the apex of your thighs. When his fingers graze your outer lip, he peeks under the gown. “He left the door open for me. That was nice,” Steve smiles. “Said ya got a gorgeous pussy, too.” Your legs tense, and his hand returns to your thigh. “Nothin’ to be afraid of, darlin’.”

The leather that’s holding you down is what scares you. It’s the most unsettling feeling.

Steve adjusts himself, and when you follow his hand, you can't pull your eyes away from the bulge in his pants. Wow. He doesn't wear his pants nearly as tight on his ass as Javi, so you hadn't even thought about Steve’s dick. Now it's all you can think about. You're studying the shape his pants are struggling to contain. Never would’ve thought. And, balls. You’re pretty sure he’s got big balls. You wet your lips and realize you're staring.

“Attagirl,” he mutters. “See, that's where my partner and I have different philosophies,” Steve explains. “I could care less if you're drunk, high, outta your mind.” The hand on your thigh slides all the way up to where your thigh meets your torso. “Good pussy’s good pussy.” He traces the crease, right next to your outer lips, and his light touch makes you tingle. “I think a pretty girl deserves all the dick she wants.” He sighs, then raises his eyebrows. “And then some,” he says with a short nod.

“His heart’s in the right place,” Steve says unconvincingly. “Hurts though, don’t it?” He pouts at you as he keeps tracing the crease of your inner thigh. “Never met a whore he didn’t fuck. . .n’ can’t be bothered to give ya just an inch.

He follows your eyes back to his crotch and chuckles darkly. “Boy, you got your eye on the prize, don't ya?” He looks down at himself.

“Mmm,” he grunts when he meets your eyes again. The humor is gone from his face.

He looks at the leather strap around your arm. “I’ll take mercy on ya,” he mutters and takes his hand out from between your legs. He pauses with his hands on the strap. “Gonna be good for me?”

“Yeah,” you nod.

He unbuckles the strap. The metal of the buckle flicks against your inner arm. You don’t move your arm, making good on your promise to be good. Then the mattress creaks and groans as he gets up on the bed with you. He straddles one of your knees and leans forward, bracing his right hand on the mattress near your torso. His left hand returns between your legs. This time, he goes straight for your cunt. He smiles when he feels how wet you are. He lightly rubs you, teasing your dripping folds up and down. He falls into a trance. He gathers your slick and brings it to your clit. He scoots up on the bed so his head is above yours and his crotch is at your hip. He looks into your eyes as he circles your most sensitive spot. A knot is already forming in your stomach, making your pelvis lift into his hand. He wets his bottom lip, then bites it as he adds more pressure. Then speed. Your mouth falls open and a moan slips out.

His lips form a small ‘o’. “Ooh,” he marvels. “Oh, you’re a real sweet thing, I can tell.” His fingertips slide down, and one of them teases your entrance, making an audible, rhythmic smacking sound. Then he slowly pushes the finger inside. His eyes roll up toward the ceiling, and his head tilts up too. You watch his neck veins. There’s some faded tattoo ink barely visible on his chest, poking up from his collar when the angle is right. He presses his hard bulge against your hip and you gasp with a bolt of arousal.

“Yeah,” he whispers, and you moan. “Yeah, ya want that, don’t ya?” He gives you another slow thrust against the hip. “You want it right here.” He pushes another finger into you. “Ohh, yeah.” His upper palm massages your clit as his fingers pump into you.

“You’ll get it, don’t worry.” You twitch at the thought. “But you’re gonna cum on these fingers first. Hear me?”

You nod and take a deep breath. Your back arches. You reach for his pants.

“There ya go,” he nods as if that’s why he unbuckled you in the first place. “Ohh, you’re gonna go wild.”

You grab his bulge–it’s more than a handful–and massage him through his pants.

“Mmm. Yeah,” he whispers. Your nipples harden with his practiced touch, and you sigh, unable to take any more tension. His fingers curl inside you and he whispers, “C’mon, now.” The deep whisper is enough.

“Ohh,” you moan. He nods in encouragement and his upper palm bears down on your clit. You close your eyes and let yourself unravel. Your spasming walls squeeze and soak his fingers.

“Yeahh, attagirl.”

As your climax fades, he withdraws his fingers and feverishly unbuckles his belt. You throb in anticipation. It won't take much to tease another one out of you. Your core twitches as he shoves down his briefs and his thick cock springs free, taking your breath away. He gets between your legs and holds his stiff manhood loosely as he lines himself up. He shakes it heavily up and down, teasing your clit with the head of his cock. Oh, God it feels so–you’re already about to–

–Steve hesitates.

In the driveway, a car pulls up and stops.

Steve stops what he’s doing. “Alright, let's see what the boss wants,” he says with an air of inconvenience as he tucks his erection into his briefs.

“Thought you were partners,” you say and hope you don't sound too disappointed.

“On paper, sure. “ He buttons and zips up his pants. “On paper I'm a good cop, too,” he winks.

Steve pats your cheek and says, “hang in there.” He gets off the bed, then leans in close and whispers, “give it to ya next chance I get. . .skip the preamble, how's that?”

You bite your lip. Just as the front door begins to unlock, Steve sits down in a chair next to the bed, with his hands clasped in his lap.

—--

Javi opens the door.

“All good at the office?” Steve asks.

“All good,” Javi reports, and he surveys you with his eyes as he approaches. “What’s going on here?”

“Oh, she just wanted a change of scenery,” Steve reports, mercifully. Javi looks at him skeptically for a moment, then shrugs it off.

“How are you feeling?” Javi asks you with a hand on his hip and a serious look. He sits on the edge of the bed, facing you and Steve, who’s on the same side.

“Okay,” you reply.

Javi clenches his jaw and furrows his brow. His hand frames your jaw and he looks at your eyes. Then he lets go of you.

"Good," Javi nods. Then squints and asks, "He touch you?"

You look at Steve. Steve raises his eyebrows curiously. He doesn't deny touching you, but his face also doesn't give you any clues about the right answer. He’s sitting in amused suspense. Javi raises his eyebrows at you like a challenge, waiting on you to speak. You look at Steve again, and Steve winks. Unsure what it means, you begin to slowly shake your head no.

Javi clenches his jaw and his eyes narrow. His head whips to Steve and he asks, "Why not?"

Steve sighs and uncrosses his arms. He extends his hand to Javi. Javi brings Steve's hand to his nose, takes a whiff of his fingers, and cracks a smile. "Don't lie to me, putita." Javi closes his eyes, draws in your scent again, then opens his eyes and mouth as he brings Steve's middle and index fingers to his lips. Javi locks eyes with you as he tastes you on Steve's fingers. Your heart races. You failed whatever test this was.

Javi drops Steve's hand and brings his own hand to cup your jaw. "Pobrecita. . ." His hand dwarfs your face. "What’s the matter? Te confunde?” (It confuses you)

You nod, and your voice is small. "You said it's yours."

"What's mine?"

You look down at yourself and swallow. "My body?"

Javi nods. "Say it."

Your eyes settle on what you can see of his gold chain under his shirt. "This pussy is yours."

"That's right," Javi nods condescendingly. "Good girl." He brings his hand from your cheek to your thigh and squeezes it. He nods toward Steve and says, "con mi permiso" (with my permission). "Still confused?"

You shake your head.

“That's all he did? Touch you?”

“Yeah,” you nod.

Javi addresses Steve. "Alright, c’mon.” He beckons him, and Steve stands up with his hands still clasped in front of himself.

“Show her your cock.”

Steve undoes his pants again. He slides them down over the bulge of his still-hard cock, then pauses.

“Pants off,” Javi adds matter-of-factly. Steve sits back down to unlace his shoes, then takes them off. He pulls off his pants, and he's left wearing black socks and white briefs with a red and blue stripe around the waistband. Thigh muscles are massive.

“Good news for you, putita.” Javi nods toward Steve. “This one’ll fuck anything.” Your cheeks heat up and Steve shakes his head in amusement at Javi.

“Says the guy who has his own room at a brothel.”

Javi looks at your body hungrily and crosses his arms. “Give it to her,” he mutters without looking at Steve.

When Steve stands up, Javi takes his place, manspreading with his hands tucked under his arms, straining his short-sleeve button-up.

Steve mounts the bed again, putting himself between your legs. He pulls his briefs down under his balls, and you let out a little gasp. His cock is even more engorged than it was before. It’s so thick, and the veins are beautiful. He looks even bigger than Javi, but it might be an effect of his lighter, finer pubic hair. He braces a hand on the mattress again, hovering over you.

You glance at Javi and he's watching intently as Steve lines up his cock between your legs. The touch of his tip at your dripping hole makes you shiver in arousal and your nipples pucker. Steve smiles to himself under his mustache. He notches his tip half inside your entrance, then looks at Javi.

Javi makes a subtle beckoning motion with one hand, and Steve begins to push into you. You gasp as his girth begins to spread you open. He pushes further, and you whimper.

Javi scoots closer and lays a big, warm hand on your tied-down arm. You look at him and he reassures you, “You can take it, I promise.”

Then, Steve plunges to the hilt, dividing your insides with a loud grunt. You moan and lock eyes with him as he looks up at you darkly. Your body rushes to accommodate the heft of him inside you.

“Good girl,” Javi mutters to himself with his eyes fixed where your bodies are joined.

Steve withdraws most of his length, then Javi raises his palm in a stop motion and Steve freezes, biting his lips together. Javi stands up, and walks toward Steve for a better point of view.

“Go,” Javi mutters, crossing his arms again. There's a bulge growing in Javi’s restrictive jeans, and he's not doing anything about it.

Steve pushes into you again, making you moan. He pauses for only an instant before backing out again, and right away he’s pushing back in. “Fuck,” he mutters as his thick cock disappears into your hole once more.

“How is it?” Javi asks him. “Juicy, right?”

“Nngh–yeah,” Steve answers as he brings his hips back, then slams into you harder and his balls slap against you. “Goddamn,” Steve mutters. “Tighter than ya’d think.”

“Hm,” Javi hums with a straight face, then raises his eyes to meet yours. “He's gonna break you in for me.” He looks at Steve's cock sliding out of you then at Steve's face, twisted with arousal. “Right, partner?”

“Goddamn right,” Steve breathes. He ramps up to a steady rhythm, fucking you gradually harder until the force is pushing you up on the bed.

“Hold on,” Javi mutters and the vein on Steve's forehead swells with effort as he stops with only his tip inside. Steve wets his lips and rubs them together. Javi tightens the restraints to hold you steady. While Javi is is busy with that, Steve rocks ever so slightly into you, moving less than an inch forward and back. It’s so subtle it could be an accident, but it must provide relief because he moans quietly. At the sound of his noise and the look of his face, you whimper and your cunt spasms once.

“Nngh,” Steve reacts.

“Okay,” Javi announces, then stands so he can roughly see things from Steve’s point of view again. Steve resumes with a slow, careful pace.

Javi wets his lips as he watches your cunt swallow Steve's cock. Steve's cock pulls at your pussy each time it withdraws, and the sight seems to darken Javi’s eyes with lust. You twitch again.

“Fuck,” Steve breathes, then looks over his shoulder “Can I?”

“Don't let her come on your cock,” Javi answers.”

Hearing Javi talk about Steve’s cock is almost enough to do it.

Steve sighs and looks at the ceiling, in an almost eye-roll. His arms strain his shirt. His sweat wafts toward you and makes your knees weak. He draws in a deep breath as he slowly pushes in again.

You imagine if the situation was different, if you were just some slut they picked up at a bar, how much fun you could have with the two of them.

You twitch around him, and he pulls out in a hurry. “Sorry darlin’,” he mumbles. He sits back on his knees and pumps himself. “Where do you want it,” he asks, staring at your body.

“Uh,” you stammer, then realize he's not asking you.

Javi pulls the gown down under your tits. Steve strokes himself faster until his breath gets uneven. He pauses, scoots up your body to straddle your middle, then resumes. You admire his balls as his fist slides up and down his shaft. His hand is so large, yet it doesn’t dwarf his cock.

Steve’s eyes narrow at your tits. He pumps himself faster and his mouth drifts open until he points his cock at your chest and moans, “Ohhh—ohhhh, fuck,” painting your tits with his cum. Your nipples sharpen as the warm spend spreads. As the last of his cum dribbles out, Steve sighs.

“Good,” Javi mutters, then comes up toward the head of the bed again. Steve tucks his softening cock away and gets off the bed. He reaches down to the floor to get a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his jeans. Then he pulls the chair toward the foot of the bed, and manspreads in his briefs to watch Javi.

Javi dips two fingers into Steve’s cum on your chest. He spreads it around slowly. He circles each of your nipples until they’re painfully erect.

Javi swipes up a bit of cum from between your breasts and brings his fingers to your lips. You take his thick digits into your mouth and taste the salt of Steve’s seed. Then you gently suck. Javi gets you to clean both fingers, one at a time, then he licks them himself.

Javi brushes your temple with his thumb. “Let’s hope this is rock bottom.”

—---

Thank you so much for reading. To help with the next ones, I would love to know what you liked most about it, and your thots are welcome, too 🖤

tagging people who asked for part 2 🖤

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @ohheypedrito @weddingfairy @neobanguniberse @ladyscarlettdixon @zliteraturehoe @planet-marz1

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schermreparatie · 7 months

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ipad Reparatie

Wanneer u het apparaat bij ons binnenbrengt voor iPad-reparatie, diagnosticeren wij de iPad-storing. Wij informeren u voor iPad reparatie. Wanneer u ons iPad reparatie instructies geeft, repareren wij het apparaat en bezorgen het bij u.

#schermreparatie #ipad #reparatie

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noelcollection · 1 year

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Seventeenth-Century Pocket Book

Today, approximately 30 currencies are in use among the fifty nations of Europe. Back in the 1600s, things were much more complex, as illustrated in this Dutch catalog of woodcuts of 1,685 coins (many scaled to actual size). European cities, duchies, dioceses, and other localized governing bodies issued their own unique sets of coinage.

This book was printed in 1633 by Hieronymus Verdussen of the Verdussen publishing dynasty in Antwerp. At this point in history, the Netherlands dominated international trade. During the "Dutch Golden Age," the Netherlands was enriched by the establishment of the Dutch East Trading Company in 1602 and the Dutch West Trading Company in 1621. A pocket book such as the one showcased here would have seen heavy use by Dutch merchants needing a handy reference work to distinguish the hundreds of different coins in circulation.

And yes, this is indeed a “pocket” book! The unusual dimensions of this volume (31 x 10.5 cm) fit very well in the pockets of the early 17th century (abt. 40 x 30 cm). (Fun fact: the modern pocket as sewn into clothes was developed in 17th century Europe!)

Images from: Ordonnancie ende instructie naer de welcke voort-aen hen moeten reguleren die ghesworen wisselaers ofte collecteurs vande goude ende silver penningen. Antwerp: Hieronymous Verdussen, 1633. Catalog record: https://bit.ly/3IAMeA8

Van de Venne, Adriaen Pietersz. Prins Maurits en Frederik Hendrik op de paardenmarkt van Valkenburg. Oil on panel, 1618. Currently held by the Rijksmuseum.

#rare books #special collections #woodcut #pocket books #numismatics #dutch history

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outstandingblue · 1 year

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Promises to Keep

Nine - Soft Spot and Watching Eyes

recom!miles quaritch x fem!na'vi oc

Jiniraa starts sharing her world with the Recoms and Miles keeps finding his eyes drawn to her.

cross-posted on ao3 here content warning: none wc: 6.2k (and i thought last chapter was long)

“You want us to do what?”

“Put down your weapons and sit on the ground,” Jiniraa replied to Ja, “I’m really not asking for much.”

“What so we can braid each other’s hair and gossip about our crushes at school?” Lyle snickered back, elbowing Prager to have him join the joke.

“You want that?” Mansk mumbled under his breath. Jiniraa made it a point to ignore all of their snide comments.

Miles was apprehensive about the method of instruction Jiniraa chose to teach the Recoms the Na’vi way through. They were used to training beyond exhaustion, pushing the body and mind to its absolute limits. They were not used to sitting around in a kumbaya circle.

Jiniraa crossed her arms, “I learned your way with your methods, now you will learn mine. Sit down. Now.”

Her tone was becoming increasingly more hostile, annoyed at the defiance she was facing. The group seemed to notice.

Lyle was the first to respond, holding his hands in the air in mock surrender, “alright, alright princess. No need to yell.”

Jiniraa’s ears flattened as she bared her teeth, “don’t call me princess. Just sit your asses down.”

The Recoms looked around, silently asking each other if they actually were going through with this. Were they actually going to surrender the weapons? Lay them down on the ground as they sat around, unprotected, in the most hostile place they’d ever been? The place they died fifteen years prior? Hell no.

They had navigated further into the forest, away from the clearing they were dropped off in. The noise of the chopper would’ve signaled to any hostiles in the region of their exact location. If the Omaticaya - or other Na’vi - had any scouts in the area, they would be drawn right to the clearing. For the sake of the team, they pushed deeper into the forest.

Every time there was the slightest noise, the Recoms would freeze and draw their guns. As for Spider and Jiniraa, they were back in their element, almost smiling at every little breaking branch or brush of wind.

Lyle had been calling Jiniraa a “god-damned tree-hugger” in his head the entire trek, growling every time he got hit in the head with a vine he should’ve cut down with ease. Five minutes into their move, Jiniraa scolded both him and Prager from using their machetes on the thick undergrowth. He tried to fight back, but the Colonel shot him a deadly look. He was supposed to listen to Jiniraa. The insects were starting to get to him as well; they didn’t bother anyone else, only Lyle. Z-Dog said it was because he smelled like shit.

So - Lyle was in less than a favorable mood when Jiniraa asked him to sit in a circle.

Everyone was on edge, flashes from that day were fresh in their memories. The drop of bodies as arrows flew from hidden perches. The sound of mud under their boots. The yelling and screaming of orders. They were picked off one by one, not knowing who would be the next victim of the forest.

Based on the Colonel’s meticulous time-keeping, the eclipse would be upon them in just over two hours. The team needed to settle before the eclipse; they have a tendency to become trigger-happy morons when pushed too close to the edge. Jiniraa’s overall peaceful persona was somewhat putting everyone at ease, but it wasn’t enough.

Miles had somewhat expected her to bolt with Spider the moment they touched down. She thought so too, but resisted the urge. Maybe the trackers and threats were enough to keep them in line.

Jiniraa stopped waiting for the Recoms to follow her instructions, allowing her legs to fold under herself as she was lowered into the soft embrace of the forest. Serenity was coursing through her veins as she sat, waiting for everyone to follow. A variety of faces stared back at her.

Annoyance from Lyle, but she already knew about that one; his frustration was evident even through the sunglasses. Apprehension from Prager, lips pressed together. Mild disgust from Ja - his boots sunk into mud a while back. Curiosity from Zdinarsk, she seemed to be the only one mildly intrigued by the other woman’s proposition. Irritation from Lopez - he’d almost tripped over three oversized roots in the past twenty minutes. Mansk was unreadable, as usual, a stone face behind his dark shades.

One by one, everyone turned to the Colonel, looking for their commanding officer to provide direction. He stared back at them and glanced at Jiniraa, “would you just sit down and quit your yappin’?”

No one moved, so he pursed his lips together and continued, “I’ll keep watch. Just listen to what she says.”

He didn’t wait for any objections, turning on his heel and circling the perimeter. He was just out of eyesight, but kept within earshot for security reasons. Jiniraa felt a ping within her heart, secretly disappointed that Miles wouldn’t see the forest for the first time like everyone else.

The Recoms all sat down, slinging their weapons across their laps. They knew Jiniraa wanted them to put their weapons down on the ground, but they wouldn’t let their weapons get too far out of their reach. They kept their hands trained at the ready in case something, or someone, decided to approach the group. They would be ready within a moment’s notice, back on their feet and ready to defend their territory if need be.

“I want everyone to close your eyes,” Jiniraa began, looking around the circle they formed, “just trust me, okay? Take in the sounds around you. Listen to everything. You’re not scanning for threats, you’re trying to feel the embrace of the forest

“Can you hear the stream in the distance? Hear the mother viperwolf caring for her young? Do you feel the breeze pushing through the canopy? Can you smell the sweet nectar of the fruit, just a hundred paces away?

“Think about what you feel around you - the soft ground, the residual wetness from a recent storm. Feel the pulse of the Great Mother. Feel her web of connectivity. See it in your mind.”

As Jiniraa finished her speech, she allowed them to be alone with their own emotions in silence, processing the world around them. They all went through a series of emotions. Mansk was the first to follow her direction to close his eyes, not that anyone would know. Lyle was the last, muttering his tree-hugger insult once more. They all felt incredibly stupid as they sat there.

“When you’re ready, open your eyes. Take all the time you need. The forest will still be here. My ancestors saw these trees as we do today. My grandchildren’s children will walk the same path we did today. The forest will persevere.”

Prager was the first to open his eyes, remaining silent as he gazed towards the largest trees. Lyle was the last, actually finding a single moment of peace in nature.

Jiniraa recognized the astonishmemt spread through the Recoms, pride spreading in her chest as they just a quick glimpse of her beautiful home. Under the guise of teaching them ‘how to Na’vi,’ as Miles so eloquently described it, she planted seeds of respect for the forest, regardless if it was genuine or not.

Together, Jiniraa and Spider introduced the unit to the different flora throughout the forest, focusing on what plants were edible, medical, and straight-up poisonous.

Miles would circle around every few minutes, checking in with everyone before disappearing back into the tree line. He watched from afar as Jiniraa introduced the unit to Pandora; his ears strained and attempted to listen to the conversation.

Although his hearing was drastically improved in this new body, it wasn’t enough to hear the way he laughed at Lyle when Spider convinced the Corporal to stick his nose in a well-known allergen flower. Lyle didn’t stop sneezing for five minutes.

Miles didn’t have a choice, he needed to stay on tour for the sake of his unit. They would be able to focus on Jiniraa if he was on watch. He was supposed to ease their anxieties, but man, he desperately wanted to be part of that group right now.

●●●

“Colonel to Wainfleet,” Lyle pressed his fingers to his throat. He swatted at the insects that continued to assault and bother him, attracted to the sweat that pooled around his neck.

“Go ahead Lyle.”

“What’s your pos? Startin’ to get dark,” Lyle was doing a good job hiding the anxiety under a rougher-than-usual voice, but Miles heard right through it. He’s known everyone long enough to know their little ticks.

“Rotating back now. We’ll group up and wait out the eclipse.” Miles turned away from the winding plant he’d been inspecting, allowing the vine to fall as he turned and made a bee-line back.

He found Jiniraa smiling, practically glowing (even without her bioluminescent dots) while being back in the forest. Spider was next to her, a mirrored look on his face. She seemed to have forgotten about the earlier incidents in the training center and on the tarmac. It was all washed away. Good, Miles thought to himself.

“Oh! Miles! Look at this - it’s a yovo. You have to try it!” She jumped across the clearing to approach the Colonel, who stared back wide-eyed at her. He had watched her fall over her own feet walking on flat ground in the RDA facility, but here? She was maneuvering around raised roots, thick vines, and oversized leaves with ease, moving like a fish in water.

Jiniraa practically shoved the small purple ball into his hands, smiling eye to eye. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to try it. Looking past Jiniraa’s bubbling form, everyone else had uneaten fruit in their hands as well.

Miles raised an eyebrow, a small smirk pulling at his cheek, “is this your attempt to poison us?”

She didn’t reply, only grabbing the fruit from his hand and taking a small bite. Only enough to prove the fruit was in fact edible, leaving the rest for him to enjoy. She maintained eye contact as she bit down, jutting her head forward to keep the dribbling juices from falling down her front. She wiped the excess juice that pooled on her chin with the back of her hand, pushing the fruit back into the Colonel’s hands.

He shrugged and took a tentative bite. Now - he had a feeling it would taste good, but not this good. He had to suppress the moan that pushed through his throat when the sweetness touched his lips.

The food at Bridgehead wasn’t the best - hell, it was basically a military chow line. Filled with rehydrated food and ‘nutritional’ paste. Calories were all that mattered. Being edible and enjoyable were secondary thoughts. But this thing was just sitting in the forest waiting to be eaten? He could’ve been enjoying this food the whole time?

Jiniraa’s eyes were wide, a little slack-jawed waiting for his official review of the fruit.

“Now, that is fucking delicious,” Miles choked out, mouth full of a second bite. Jiniraa squealed in pleasure, spinning around to see everyone else take their first bites as well.

In unison, the team took their first bites of Pandoran fruit in union, sharing in the euphoria that spread throughout their entire bodies once the fruit touched their tongues.

This was the food they were supposed to be eating. Not the slop served at Bridgehead. No wonder Jiniraa refused to eat, only taking the bare minimum when Miles threatened to force feed her. Growing up on stuff like this? It was cruel to try and eat the gray shit they called nutritional down.

Miles gave everyone a minute to enjoy their snack before he ordered them to circle up. The first signs of the eclipse were beginning. Within five minutes, they would be plunged into total darkness for about an hour.

Jiniraa and Spider didn’t seem too fazed by the unit's movement around them. Jiniraa perched herself on a fallen log near the outskirts of the circle, laying on her side and letting her eyes close, lulled by the sounds of the forest.

Spider sat hear his friends’ head, fiddling with elongated blades of grass. He’d braid and unbraid, repeating the process until the strands were falling apart. It was a feeble attempt to dissuade anyone from trying to converse with him.

“We holding position here, boss?” Lyle spoke up.

“Yeah. We’ll wait for the eclipse to pass then be on the move again.” Miles responded, checking his watch, “we have a little more than four hours until the transport will be back to pick us up. Today is a test run, tryna see how those two will work with us. They seemed to pass the test, not creating too much of a problem.”

Lyle hummed in acknowledgement, not expecting the Colonel to continue, “we’ll get longer stints of off-base time from here on out. If everything goes well the rest of the day.”

Lyle nodded curtly, pushing his shades onto his forehead once the treeline was too hard to see in the dark. The entire unit was on edge, flinching at every little sound that came from deep in the forest. Jiniraa’s tail kept brushing against a nearby bush; at first it was an accident, but she turned it into a game once she realized how it affected everyone.

After the umpteenth brush of her appendage against the bush, Miles clenched his teeth in annoyance, “could you keep that damn tail of yours under control? I’ll cut it off if you don’t stop.”

It was probably an empty threat, Jiniraa knew that, but there was a small part of her that feared he wasn’t lying. Regardless, Jiniraa didn’t open her eyes, only waiving a dismissive hand in his direction. She flexed her tail harder on purpose, making more noise than before. He huffed, making her raise her brow bone, but her eyes remained closed as she responded.

“Your dogs should calm down. Enjoy the forest a little.” She shifted onto her back. Her bioluminescent freckles were in full swing, framing her face. Miles' eyes traced down her sternum and stomach, watching them disappear under the waistband of her pants.

“And take a nap like you are?” Jiniraa could imagine what the Colonel looked like right now: standing with a cocked hip and a hand on his belt or upper vest. She wasn’t too far off from reality. Only thing - she didn’t think his eyes would be raking over her resting figure, trying to remember the location of every single dot that graced her skin.

“I’m awake,” Jiniraa muttered. The conversation faded away, going silent for upwards of an hour. Spider watched the unit communicate through their hand signals, but no verbal communication came from the Recoms.

Jiniraa would shift her position every once and a way, flipping from one side to the other trying to get comfortable. Every time she moved, she unknowingly pulled the Colonel’s attention, eyes darting to her resting form. He assumed based on her steady rise and fall of her chest that she had fallen asleep.

Eclipse came and went without any notable occurrences. Once the darkness fully receded and light prevailed, there was a collective sigh of relief. Jiniraa remained laying across the fallen log, moving her forearm across closed eyes when light interrupted her rest.

“Alright, let’s keep moving. We have a little more than three hours before our transport is here. You two, get up.” Miles ordered everyone around.

Spider jumped from the log and Jiniraa followed shortly after, stretching her limbs and rubbing the rest of her eyes. She didn’t let herself completely succumb to the desire to sleep. It made it harder to refocus herself in the present, suspending herself between conscious and unconscious for too long. As much as she wanted to just sleep, she couldn’t leave Spider alone like that.

Once Jiniraa was on her feet Miles continued, “we’re moving. I want us to go north and then circle to the rendezvous point. Let’s go.”

They moved at an unrelenting pace. It made it difficult for Spider to keep up; he may have grown up in the forest and knew how to maneuver the terrain better than any Deja Blue member, but his shorter and weaker limbs made it impossible to keep up.

They continued pushing through the brush for an hour without pause. Jiniraa was panting, desperately needing to break for water. She refused to ask the group to slow down. They already thought she was weak and fragile - she wouldn’t prove them right. For her own pride, she couldn’t prove them right.

Neither Jiniraa or Spider recognized their exact location - it was a tactical decision, disorienting the prisoners to discourage them from an escape attempt. The quick pace didn’t allow them to try and figure out their location.

The sound of a waterfall could be heard in the distance, growing louder as they continued. Jiniraa wouldn’t ask the Colonel, but she secretly hoped they would head there. In reality, the Colonel hadn’t planned on going towards the waterfall. He saw it on the aerial map when he first surveyed their location, but something inside him pulled his body closer.

There also was the pair trailing behind, he knew they were both growing tired. They were lagging further back than he was comfortable with. Lopez was at the rear of the group, forced to hang further and further back to keep the pair in front of him.

Jiniraa attempted to cover up her burnt out induced lagging by brushing her hands against overhanging plants. Even though it burned, she forced her body to push forward and scold Lyle every time he reached for his machete, the leaves and insects and mud were really starting to get to him.

She flicked his shoulder, “do you not listen? Put the knife away. There is no need to kill the forest for your personal path.”

Exasperated, Lyle turned to the Colonel with wide crazy eyes, hoping he’d come to his defense. He didn’t. However, he made a motion for Jiniraa to walk with him.

Smirking down at her Miles murmured, his words were nice at first, but his mocking tone said otherwise. “You doin’ okay? You seem a little sweaty. Can’t hang with the big boys?”

Jiniraa smiled back up at him, baring her fangs more than necessary, “oh, I’m doing just fine.”

He raised his eyebrows, knowing she was lying and desperately needed a breath. Miles glanced back at the unit, they were starting to show signs of fatigue as well. A quick glance at the datapad showed the waterfall was less than two kilometers away. They just needed to veer a little off the intended path.

Miles softly elbowed Jiniraa, “hang in there, sweetheart.”

She averted her eyes, training them on the ground rather than making eye contact. If he noticed, he didn’t comment.

Jiniraa just about collapsed when they finally reached the waterfall’s basin. Hands on her knees, she listened to the Colonel.

“Alright! We got twenty before turning and heading back. Rest up,” he clapped his hands together twice, letting everyone be at ease.

Jiniraa was already standing in ankle deep water before Miles finished his announcement. Spider was moving behind her, kicking water in her direction.

Jiniraa gasped, a playful smile on her face, “you little shit.” She laughed, pulling the bottom of her pants up as she sent water in Spider’s direction. They continued splashing each other, moving deeper into the water. Spider eventually bit off more than he could chew and slipped back, making a splash as he fell under the water.

Jiniraa laughed, trudging in his direction and pulled him back to his feet. Spider wouldn’t look her in the eyes, embarrassed by his trip, but he did laugh as he moved back to the shore.

Miles was waiting, watching from a rock when Spider approached, “kid, you look like a drowned cat.”

Spider flipped him off. Jiniraa shook her head, following Spider back to shore. Jiniraa climbed along the Colonel silently. Miles raised an eyebrow as she sat next to him.

“Thank you.”

Miles held back a laugh, “what’re you thankin’ me for?”

“You didn’t have to head here. You said you wanted us to go north. We’ve been drifting east for a while.”

Miles didn’t think anyone would’ve caught onto that. He replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

HIs slight smirk said otherwise. He didn’t come to the waterfall just for Jiniraa and Spider, but also for his team. And himself, just a little selfishly. They needed to create new memories in the forest. That way they won’t just remember the night that half of Project Phoenix met their untimely end.

“What’re you doin’?” Miles watched Jiniraa unclipping the green waist bag, setting it down behind her before slipping down on the rock they sat on. She stood an arms length away from Miles, pausing a moment before untying her pants from around her waist.

Miles' eyes widened as he looked around. He had no clue what was going on in her mind. His heart was racing just a little more than normal, “hey what do you think-”

“I’m going for a swim. Chill out.” She didn’t give him a chance to respond before she slipped her pants off, neatly folding them next to the waist bag. Miles watched out of the corner of his eye, focusing on every move of her body. He tried to recall the placement of her dots, imagining how they’d look right now.

Her bottoms were unlike other Na’vi bottoms he’d seen. She didn’t have the modesty panel that others did - hers seemed more like bikini bottoms than anything else. The snug bottoms had beading across the waistline, matching the colors of her top.

Big green eyes were staring at the Colonel, pulling him from his trance, “what.”

Miles scoffed, “nothing,” he turned his attention back down to the data pad until she was walking in the water. His eyes were drawn to a star-shaped patch of light blue on the outside of her leg, a healed scar. He recognized the shape, it obviously was a bullet wound. She’d been shot at some point, right into the hip. It started making sense - the way she favored the right leg when fighting, her reaction when he gripped her ankle and tugged, the way her eyes widened when she fell a certain way. It all must’ve agitated an incorrectly healed wound.

Jiniraa pushed herself under the water. Sure, she’d been forced to use the showers at the RDA satellite facility, but it was nothing like submerging yourself under the cool embrace of water. It was an initial shock to her system, but her body quickly adapted.

She watched as Spider scaled a large boulder before calling out, “‘Niraa, you watching?”

Jiniraa treaded in the water, keeping her head above the surface with ease, “I’m watching, go ahead.”

Spider took a running start before leaping off the boulder and doing a flip, flinging his body towards the water. He made a splash, luckily landing feet first. It wasn’t a pretty sight when Spider first attempted flips into the water. Jiniraa had to apply soothing salves to welting, angry red skin for countless nights.

When Spider reemerged from the water, Jiniraa had a smile across her face, clipping and cheering at the kid’s skill improvement.

The ruckus caught the attention of everyone sitting on the shore. None of them would even take off their boots, knowing they needed to be ready within a moment’s notice. Sure they could rest for a little, but that didn’t mean they could let their guard down.

Prager was the first to speak up, a sad whisper under his breath, “I miss cannonballs.”

Z-Dog laughed obnoxiously, trying to imagine Prager doing a cannonball, “yeah, I’m sure your fat ass could make one hell of a splash.”

Prager held an offended, gloved hand at the tattooed woman, he argued back, “a cannonball is a matter of skill.”

Zdinarsk snorted, throwing her head back. They started arguing back and forth, annoying everyone to no end. Miles wanted to tell them to shut the fuck up, but it was nice seeing them acting normal. Since their transition to their new bodies, it has been weird between everyone. Miles couldn’t find the words to describe it - people would try and keep their familiar bonds from before, but technically they weren’t the same people from before.

Sure they had the memories from their human predecessors, but the second they opened their eyes and formed a thought in Na’vi-based brains didn’t that mean they diverged from their human personas? Human Colonel Quaritch never would have diverged from the mission to take a pit stop at a waterfall simply out of enjoyment, yet Avatar Miles did. The longer he was in this body, the more he didn’t feel like the Quaritch. He felt like Miles. A new person.

Even as humans, the group threaded the line of personal and professional on a daily basis. They knew when to be serious - when to snap to attention or when they pushed their COs officers buttons enough, but they cared for eachother like a family. When forced into life or death situations on a daily basis, it is hard to differentiate between a person protecting you because it's their job or because they see you as family. It’s impossible to differentiate between protectiveness because of duty and protectiveness stemming from love.

That thought wasn’t on Miles’ as he watched Jiniraa and Spider interact. Spider obviously looked up to Jiniraa, bonded from years of living together. Jiniraa looked out for the human as one of her own. Any onlooker could discern the care they felt for each other.

Miles cupped his hands together, yelling over the splashing, “you two got five minutes! I want you back on the shore in five.”

Jiniraa yelled back, “it has not been fifteen minutes!”

“I don’t give a shit. Five minutes.” They tried to enjoy their final few minutes of semi-freedom before Miles called back out, huge hands beckoning them back to the shore line. As Jiniraa exited the water, she rang the excess water out of her hair. The long strands clung to her skin, waves more defined from the dampness.

Miles couldn’t help but appreciate the way her body moved as she exited the water. The curve of her waist. The way her miniscule clothing was fused to her skin, wet and sticking. The way her hair worked down her back. The way the muscle beneath her skin shifted with each step, covered by a thin layer of flesh, making her bulkier than the regular Na’vi. It made her look more human.

Now, don’t get it twisted. Miles wasn’t finding her attractive, certainly not. Objectively, she had an attractive body. Nothing more, nothing less.

Miles cleared his throat as Jiniraa slipped her pants back up her legs, “get your shit together. We’re going.”

Lyle circled his hand in the air, “Oscar Mike, let’s go.”

The trek back to the rendezvous point seemed shorter than the journey to the waterfall. There was a new pep in Jiniraa’s step. She was bouncing through the forest, jumping from branches long enough to sustain her weight.

“Blue One to transport,” the unfamiliar voice was right next to her head.. She actually forgot about the comm in her ear, jumping when she heard a voice through it.

Miles responded, “this is Blue One.”

“We’re ten minutes out. Be ready for extraction. Over.”

The group circled around, watching and waiting from the treeline. When the engines were heard, Miles turned and pointed at Jiniraa and Spider, “we’re not getting a touch-down pick up like earlier. We’re using lines. Spider, you’re with Lyle. Sweetheart, you’re with me.”

He didn’t wait for the objection that was already building in Jiniraa’s throat before stalking towards her. Standing chest to chest he looked down at her. Her hair was completely dry at this point, defined waves resting against soft skin. Resting against her collarbone. Not that Miles noticed - absolutely not.

“I could throw you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes or we can do this the easy way.” He waited for her to process. She didn’t say anything, only reaching her arms up, waiting for Miles to grab her. He smirked, not expecting her to give in that easily.

He bent down slightly, slipping his rifle across his back as she wrapped his arms around his neck. Returning to his full height with Jiniraa in his arms, he turned around as she secured her legs around his waist, ankles hooking behind them. Their chests were pressed together. She buried her face down, trying to escape the rotating blades as they grew louder, beginning to hurt her sensitive ears. He tightened his hold on her, momentarily flashing back to her reaction on the tarmac earlier.

Jiniraa’s voice was almost too quiet to hear. If she wasn’t pressed into his neck, Miles wouldn’t have heard it, “don’t drop me.”

Her breath was soft against the shell of his ear. A small voice, truly scared. He had one arm under the backs of her thighs. Subconsciously, he dug his fingers into her soft flesh at their situation and her breathy voice.

Spider and Lyle negotiated a different course of action. Spider clung to Lyle’s neck, but on his back. Neither of them said anything and Jiniraa laughed at their awkwardness. They wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone.

Miles tilted his head down into the woman’s ears, “hey, legs tighter, I need both hands for a second.”

Jiniraa squeezed her thighs, holding herself against Miles’ torso as he secured the grappling hook to his belt. He moved his left hand against her back while the right gave a thumbs up to the line operator.

“Jesus, woman, squeezin’ the air outta me. Ease up a little,” Miles choked out. He tried not to think about how easily she was holding herself against him. Muscular legs kept his diaphragm from working correctly. Tried. It was hard not to think as she clung further to his body, seeking a semblance of comfort the moment his boots left the ground. His hand ghosted down from her back and under her thighs once again.

Inside the transport, Miles let Jiniraa down gently, hands lingering her back a little longer than necessary. It was a closed carrier, unlike the helicopter from earlier. They wouldn’t be able to hang out and watch the sky transition into night, much to Jiniraa’s dismay.

Once she was steady on her own feet, she thanked Miles with a small smile and he jutted his head behind her, motioning to the seats lining the bulkhead, “take a seat. We got a long ride back.”

Jiniraa nodded, pushing Spider in front of her, “mask still good?”

“This is the fourth time you’ve asked today. Yes, it’s good.”

She held her hands in mock surrender, “just checking, just checking.”

Jiniraa saw Mansk move towards the row of seats after packing his Hydra back into its carrying case. She fully expected a repeat of the seating arrangement to Bridgehead. He had that plan as well. Maybe he’d actually be able to get some rest, unbothered by the insistent bickering between Lopez, Ja, and Z-Dog that persisted from the cannonball debate.

Miles shattered the plan, taking a quick step in front of Mansk and bee-lining towards Jiniraa and Spider. He sat down with an overexaggerated exhale, hanging Jiniraa a regulator, “mask on. Kid, this is a human atmosphere now. You can take yours off.”

Jiniraa held her breath as Spider broke the seal of his mask, never getting used to the sound. She pulled a fruit from her bag, offering it to the kid. He wasn’t able to enjoy the messy fruit earlier, unable to take his mask off long enough. Spider thanked Jinira, crossing his legs as he showed down to the sweet and juicy food.

Knowing Spider was okay, Jiniraa let her head fall backwards against the bulkhead. She was exhausted from the day’s excursion, drifting off to sleep quickly. At some point, her head rolled onto Miles’ shoulder, an attempt to get comfortable in her unconscious state. Miles went still as stone, tentatively breathing so he wouldn’t wake her.

●●●

Miles stared down at Jiniraa’s sleeping form, the memory fresh in his mind. Three weeks had passed since the first time Spider and Jiniraa went outside on a trek. The General was true to her word, each trip was longer and longer. They were returning from their first four-day trip, the longest one thus far.

Jiniraa was exhausted, falling asleep the moment she sat down. She didn’t even have the forethought to slip her mask over her head, trusting that someone else would do it for her. Miles did, everytime.

Over the past month, Miles had seen a drastic change in Jiniraa. She was seamlessly blending into the folds of the Recom unit, sharing her knowledge. He started to grow a soft spot for the woman, watching over her and making sure she stayed out of harm's way. The first time a viperwolf came near them? He thought about burning the entire forest down if necessary to keep her safe.

When the transport touched down, he could see Spider move to wake the woman sitting between them. The Colonel hissed an empty threat to the human. Miles swiftly slipped from his seat, managing to keep Jiniraa asleep. He unbuckled her lap belt and lifted her into his arms, mirroring how they always entered the carrier on the lines.

She was completely limp against him, but one hand was gripped to his vest. She roused in her sleep as Miles slid his hands for a better grip. He paused, letting her settle back down.

The loading dock opened and revealed Bridgehead City, basked in darkness. Project Phoenix returned their base of operations to Bridgehead indefinitely. Here, the unit had apartments, a space of their own. A stark contrast to the RDA satellite facility where they lived in a storage room converted into barrack-style living. Bunk beds. No one liked the bunks.

General Ardmore planned to immerse the captives into the folds of the team, assigning each of them to their own quarters within the Recom’s wing. They weren’t able to leave without the clearance of another member, but it showed a little bit of trust on their behalf. Give them a little in hopes they’d be more helpful to the greater mission at hand.

Miles navigated through the halls of the housing distinct, eyes trained straight ahead. He’d grown used to the curious eyes that watched as he moved through the long corridors. This wasn’t the first time he moved with a sleeping Jiniraa in his arms. No matter how many times people saw it, they would still stare.

Miles was lagging a little behind the rest of the unit. He needed to be slow enough to not wake Jiniraa up. He didn’t step out of the way when humans approached, refraining from hissing down at them.

He pressed the button on Jiniraa’s assigned quarters, located directly across from his own. He’d been in here before, making it easy to navigate in the semi-darkness. He laid her down on the bed, gently unwrapping her arms from his neck before unclipping the bag from her waist. The bag he arranged for her to get all those weeks ago.

After she physically attacked her over her destroyed bag, he wanted to make it right. Even though he hadn’t been the one to physically cut the bag, he still felt responsible for the loss. He bribed Lyle to keep the secret gift between the two of them. Settling the bag on a nearby table, Miles made his way out of the room.

Jiniraa shifted in her sleep, whimpering slightly. The sound forced Miles to stop in his tracks. Whimpers amplified in his flicking ears. He contemplated his next actions. He could continue moving out the room and pretend he never heard anything. She wouldn’t know. Or he could turn around and see what caused her sleepy whine. He chose the latter.

Jiniraa was writhing slightly in her sleep, brow bone furrowed into a deep scowl. Eyes clenched shut. Miles silently made his way back to her, watching as her hands reached for something. Someone.

His brain wasn’t in charge of his actions and he suddenly found his hand outstretched, laying against her temple. Soft fingers brushed the hair off her face and neck - it seemed to soothe her a bit. He traced the dots that outlined her face, completely mesmerized.

Miles jumped a little as Jiniraa’s hand reached out, brushing against the material of his fatigues. She was reaching out for warmth and he was willing to provide it. Just because he was willing to provide it doesn’t mean he could act on those desires. With one final brush of his fingers over her cheek, he forced his body to turn and let Jiniraa return to her whimpering. The noises were a punch to the gut, but he’s dealt with worse. He’d be fine. She’d be fine.

Standing in the doorway, he whispered to himself, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Her eyes opened slightly, watching a retreating form disappear.

Next: Ten - Breathe, Please

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medewerkers · 3 months

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Hé Tumblr, Tumblr hier. We werken momenteel aan een aantal zaken die we met jullie willen delen.

Artifical Intelligence-bedrijven verzamelen op verschillende manieren en voor verschillende redenen content van over het hele internet. Er zijn momenteel niet veel regels die personen zelf laten bepalen hoe hun content door AI-platforms wordt gebruikt. Er zijn wereldwijd wetsvoorstellen in de maak, bijvoorbeeld de AI-verordening van de Europese Unie, die individuele personen meer rechten geven om zelf te bepalen of en hoe hun content door deze opkomende technologie wordt gebruikt. Wij staan achter deze rechten, waar ook ter wereld, en daarom introduceren we een schakelknop om je voor het delen van content van je openbare blogs met derden af te melden, inclusief AI-platforms die deze content willen gebruiken om AI-modellen te trainen. We werken ook samen met partners om te waarborgen dat jij zo veel mogelijk bepaalt welke content kan worden gebruikt.

De belangrijkste punten:

Het verzamelen van content van Tumblr door zogenaamde 'AI-crawlers' wordt momenteel al ontmoedigd en dit zullen we blijven doen, behalve voor onze partners.

We willen jullie allemaal op Tumblr vertegenwoordigen en waarborgen dat we beleid hebben dat de manier waarop je content kan worden gebruikt, beperkt en beschermd. We zullen waarborgen dat onze partners dit beleid respecteren.

Om je voor het delen van de content van je openbare blog met derden af te melden, ga je in de webinterface naar de bloginstellingen van je openbare blogs en schakel je optie "Delen met derden" uit.

Ga naar dit document in het Help Center voor instructies voor het afmelden in de laatste versie van de app.

Let op: als je via de instellingen al hebt aangegeven dat je crawlers wilt ontmoedigen, zullen we de optie "Delen met derden" automatisch voor je uitschakelen.

Ga naar het hierboven gelinkte document in het Help Center als je verder nog vragen of opmerkingen hebt of neem contact met ons op via de Support.

#functies #delen door derden

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helloescapist · 10 months

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The Art of Sharing a Meal | Giyuu Tomioka

Word Count: 4285

Setting: Giyuu Tomioka x gn!reader (reader is a slayer), mutual pining, SFW

Content Warnings: no warnings here, just fluff all around

Summary: a day off is normally something to treasure, but for a work-a-holic like Giyuu, it's quite the struggle to navigate, as well as what to do with his spare time: music, gardening, sparring, and even cooking can be quite the challenge unless you're by his side.

[The artwork belongs to Koyoharu Gotouge!]

Steam rolled in waves off of the fire, the pots of the kitchen hut and modest. The care of the meticulously maintained cookware evident to have withstand the test of the pillage the kitchen had endured.

Pots placed throughout counters, knives awkwardly stuck in the chopping boards; peels of produce abandoned across the surface, forgotten in his enthusiasm. Chunks of daikon misshaped and awry, clearly abused and awkwardly handled in their preparation. The chunks uneven, and prepared at uneven temperatures due to the varying thickness. The pungent odor of kombucha seaweed miscalculated, and left on the stove for far too long. The remaining parts stripped of any potential savory umami, and left to wallow and slimy as the earth worms that he had met this morning. The seaweed containing the same degree of appetizing as the garden crawlers. Although unlike the soil caretakers, the kelp had long lost its benefits, seethed right from its properties. The distinct sear of overcooked salmon burned his nose, caught on the revealing hues of whites that it offered when he had sliced it. The skin awkwardly marred despite his best attempts, curiously dry despite the broth it soaked in. Composed of soy sauce and ginger far too overbearing and unbalanced and settled awkwardly and disproportion in sake. The rice wine oozing of booze and oppressive against the taste buds. Chalky on the tongue, and disappointing as the flavor punished his palate. The pucker of his lips as he forced down another bite; the disappointment evident on his features.

His meal had been in good company; afforded the rare day off at Ubuyashiki’s insistence. The leader had expressed his concern for the Water Hashira, expressed that Tomioka was well known for his adamant nature, overworked, and the man had suspected that such lifestyle choices had begun to bare on him. Weighted, and affecting his performance, he had reminded Giyuu that such decisions could impair is battle tact, reminded him that an early grave could be the result. One that very well, could belong to another rather than the Hashira, himself. A fate that Giyuu wished to avoid at all costs, and so, he had begrudgingly accepted Ubuyashiki’s care.

The dreaded reality of having a day off in the unusual opportunity to relax had weighed on him. The morning hours spent awkwardly wandering about the mansion, no longer contempt to stay in his room and play his usual games. His voyage leaving him displaced and a float. Tomioka had become increasingly aware… that he really did not know how to relax. The dawning conclusion had led him through a variety of paths, determined to seize his day off in a way that would benefit his work performance. Sharpen his mind, and ensure the safety of those under his care.

He had begun with Gyomei. The Stone Hashira had towered over him, eyes a wide and clasping his prayer beads as he regarded his peer. His features strained and stoic, had reassured Giyuu that such a rest was necessary from time to time as the foreboding man prepared himself for an upcoming mission while attempting to ponder Tomioka’s inquiry. Pressed a smile one that appeared to be sculpted from boulders itself, his steps heavy as he crossed the room. His shifting amongst belongings practiced, and precise as he found a flute and presented Giyuu with a book alongside it. His voice telling, as calm as any father figure could ever hope to be, he devlved to Giyuu that he had purchased the instructions in the hope that the hobby would bring Genya peace—the younger slayer had often been known to enjoy his playing, but as time had taught the Stone Pillar, he was uninterested. The book left with little choice to collect dust. The man had made the suggestion born of his own hobby, and the peace it often brought him, and so, the Water Hashira had set off to attempt sahkuhachi. It should have been an obtainable goal, at least the building blocks instructions Gyomei had left in his care before Giyuu had departed. The directions were formative, intended for small children beginning their journey, and yet, despite the effort Tomioka had placed into the flute, he had become aware that it was not working out well at all.

The yank of the instrument from his fingers, his eyes pressed together through forced breaths, the younger Shinazugawa had seized his opportunity, and forced the woodwind from Giyuu’s grasp. His eyes agitated; the scowl permanently etched into his features. He resembled his brother far more than he had his adopted father. The newer member to the corps had found him in the garden, drawn by the clear dismay of passing maids and kakushi who could be heard lamenting about the dying animal they had overheard. Informed Giyuu that his performance was hopeless unless he had intended to utilize it as some form of punishment in slaying. The bamboo strains threatening to snap between his fingers as he lectured his superior. Tomioka’s down casted gaze having shocked the man into an awkward apology, that sounded more like a backhanded compliment. Stumbled from fallen words, Genya had suggested something less detrimental to the health of other members, perhaps gardening. He had shared his own fondness for tending to bonsai trees. Work beckoning the young boy away, and leaving Giyuu to consider his suggestion.

Tomioka was not entirely unfamiliar to the world of gardening. Under Urokodaki’s care, Giyuu had the understanding of the basic necessities of farming. In the mountains, they were left with limited resources, and so Sabito and he had nurtured a vegetable garden, and even learned to identify wild vegetables in the forests and mountain sides. With such knowledge at his disposal, he understood that starting a garden would be a tall order for a single day off, and his efforts would be met with disappointment when he returned from a long mission. The Water Hashira’s garden would not survive without his care, and to expect other members of the corps to carry the weight was a burden he would not request, nor a task he would push off to the kakushi. Fist clapped against his hand; he knew what it was he needed to do. He had filtered through the mansion’s library, thumbed through various manuscripts, and care guides before locating what he needed. His feet carrying him as his eyes glanced amongst the pages and instructions before stopping before delicately maintained bonsai trees. Ones that Genya, the very slayer who had suggested the past time to him had cultivated. Just as Giyuu would struggle to maintain a garden, he had considered that the younger Shinazugawa likely faced the same obstacles in his cultivation and care. It would be a great show of appreciation to care for his trees in his wake, after all he had suggested such a pass time in the first place. Pages pressed between firm fingers in his left hand, sea drowned eyes that skimmed the instructions and eyebrows drawn. Clippers captured in his right hand, far too rigid for the proper technique. These instructions, much like the ones Gyomei had provided were intended for beginners, and surely something he could accomplish in a timely manner. The diagram had made it seem so easy. Snip after snip, the realization began to settle upon the demanding bellow. The familiar rage he had elicited as fast as the breeze. The demands to know what it was in the seven hells he was doing, or at least, what he thought he was doing. The seething anger that radiated from the Wind Hashira as he wretched the clippers from his hands, offered Giyuu another perspective in which Giyuu could appraise his work through, and… it wasn’t good. Quickly registering that meticulous was far more complicated he had been prepared for, and the evidence was left in bare branches. Jutting leaves at odd angles, and the once proud bonsai seemed humiliated at its appearance. Leaving the Water Hashira with the conclusion that… this was not the pass time for him before he dared to ask the older Shinazugawa what he would recommend. The query had landed as a challenge rather than a question. The Wind Pillar rash to act on his urges, the fist that claimed Giyuu’s top and yanked him to his feet. Eye to eye, curse after curse, threat after threat, the Water Hashira was at a loss. No matter how he approached the angle, he could not comprehend how a threat had been made, the pondering only eliciting further rage.

The commotion of feral growls met with confused bland statements shifted the kakushi from sight, quick to escape any damage that a sparring match would be sure to result in; the Wind Hashira was renowned for his fury. Their scrambling down the halls drawing the interception from Kanroji. The Love Hashira met them with concerned, immediately offering her assistance. She was well practiced in mediation. Her bounce in step as she intruded upon the pending scurry drew immediate dismay from Sanemi. The red of his face burning and horrified at the way she had pressed herself between them, determined to separate the two other pillars. Her affectionate smile revealing how blissfully aware at the way she had squished the agitated man. The flush of his skin staining the scars that danced across his face. Only able to manage another curse before departing down the hallway, leaving a storm in his path just as the one he had provided at his arrival. Left alone, and obviously confused at the Wind breather’s pardon, Kanroji tilted her head at Giyuu. Her eyes wide and affectionate, quick to inquire if the Water Pillar was alright, and when met with the nature of his dilemma, she had beamed. She cooed his praise, sung compliment after compliment at his hard work, and reassured him that Ubuyashiki was in fact correct. This would be wonderful for him. The smack of her hand meeting his back, intending to be as affectionate as the words she threaded together were met against the curve of his spine. The brute strength she bared completely slipping from her mind—she had nearly tumbled him over. His back ached, he had concluded. He was beginning to lose faith that a day off was relaxing at all, as he considered the woman’s parting advice. She had always enjoyed a meal best, on her day off. Although Giyuu suspected Kanroji always enjoyed her meals, she had assured him that food always tasted perfect on a day off.

Yes, his meal was in good company. A stewing match of disappointment that rolled into overbearing flavor rather than the subtle gentle one he had craved. The salmon pressed against his teeth, an uncomfortable chalky texture that dragged as he chewed. He struggled to throw it away, it seemed such a waste to simply toss it. He couldn’t imagine a proper reason to squander such use of ingredients, he had made this wreck. Giyu had determined... It would be cruel to offer it to Kanzaburo; he should be the one to eat it. He also imagined that… his old crow despite its withering age, would not accept it from the scent alone. Not that the swordsman could fault him for it. There was also the reality, that Giyuu neither had the resolve to request someone else prepare the meal, not that any kakushi were available today. Pulled away for various work tasks, the Water Hashira had been left to his own devices, lulled into a false sense of security. He had been familiar with the basics of cooking. Urokodaki had ensured he had the capabilities to prepare for food for himself; the demands of his work had ensured he was capable of securing food in the wilderness. His onigiri were simple, but edible, easily fitting into his pocket. He had been known to catch his own fish, and prepare them over a fire when missions led him far from towns and villages. He had truly thought of all the tasks, this was the one he would succeed at. His face drawn, eyes facing the mess before him, he had gathered the courage to press on. It was not as though he was at risk of poisoning himself—he was confident in that, and so, he steeled himself for another bite.

The mansion had been deserted for the most part upon your arrival. The halls devoid of the usual bustle, only the occasional kakushi rushed pass you, eager hands determined to complete their task in the wake of their comrade’s absence. Too determined to accomplish duties to properly acknowledge you, not that they had been disrespectful by any means. They were simply enthralled in their obligations to offer more than a nod in passing, their feet pattering hard against wood floors. Your report had been filed to the head of the household. Had ensured the details had been properly disclosed. It had not been an especially trying demon, but the demands on your body from the trip were tiring. Nothing you were unaccustomed to—the Wind Hashira’s sparing matched were more toiling, but you couldn’t deny the ache in your bones as you rubbed your neck, your feet a mere echo amongst the noise of the mansion. A lone figure with no immediate pressing duties to attend to. The head, Ubuyashiki had offered you the gentlest of smiles, relieved to welcome you home once again. The touch of guilt that followed was not out of place, he had often borne fatigue upon any member’s arrival. Remorse and regret were known to steal his appetite, and you believed that tonight was no different. On weary bones he rose, his wife the Lady Ubuyashiki quick to accompany his side. His weight pressed against her as he regarded her with the warmth of long-time lovers intertwined by fate and joined at the hits, a sweet sight one that you often relished in such pressing times. You had begun to rise yourself, quick to excuse yourself from the wed couple, who were clearly preoccupied in one another’s embrace, but were paused at the door. Your hand on the frame as you peeked over your shoulder, greeted by Amane’s knowing smile as the leader of the Demon Corps asked if you would be willing to shoulder, just one more burden before retiring for the night. At first, you had assumed that he was requesting tea—the lack of kakushi would mean that not all of his medical needs were priority. He had preferred it that way, but Lady Amane was more the responsive to his needs, often supplying anything her husband required before he had even known himself. No, the pleasant smile was not one that requested any personal needs, but rather, he requested you pay visit to the kitchens, “you will know before you arrive,” he had said with the faintest of chuckles. The disease clear on his throat before he allowed himself to be fully taken by his wife, bidding you farewell for the night.

He was right. The smell greeted you long before you had turned the corner of the inner rooms. What spices drafted through creeks and clung to furniture, you did not know.. Far more pungent than the fermented and dried fish that frequented some villages. In fact, you would rather welcome the horrible familiar stench of kusaya than face what lied ahead. The rare person you passed just as quick to evade the scene, unwilling to be wrangled into what mess awaited you. The pinch of your nose against your nostrils. The heavy wave of booze that carried as you peeked around the corner. This was where you had found him. Lost in a sea of mangled daikon radishes, askew across the counter. Awkwardly peeled and telling of his unfamiliarity with a kitchen blade. The nicks slammed into the cutting wood slab far deeper than necessary, fluid as his breathing style, and just as lethal. Steam of rice well prepared despite the surrounding circumstances, Slimy folds of unsavory kombu seaweed, unsalvageable. A rare sight for any cooking experience, and the slight burn of fish that had not only been over cooked, but had trodden into smoldered. Edges revealing signs of over temperature whether of neglect having been too focused on cooking the radishes, or inexperience, you weren’t entirely sure. Nor were you entirely confident that the man who sat with the stoic face upon his features was not in fact intoxicated for how heavily the sake measurement reeked. Curiously examining his bowl, trying to determine exactly what ingredients he had selected, and the peculiar regard the Water Hashira had for the meal before him. Pursed lips, hyper focused as he dared one more bite. I-It can’t be tasty. Your gaze swept over him, following every line of his face, unsure? His eyelashes fluttering, and there it was. The small bend of his eyebrow. Disappointed. The word was the only accurate description for what you had witnessed. The distant memory of Shinobu sharing her “disgust” over having witnessed Tomioka partake in his favorite food. Salmon and daikon. His time spent over the kitchen, eagerly attempting to make his own meal, and savor its effort. Only to eagerly disappointed. The queasy way he regarded his bite. Chopsticks having secured it, resolving… no, willing himself to partake another bite despite the illease on his features.

You could not stop yourself. Perhaps it was that your body had not yet settled from your fight out in the field, or the dinner before you had awakened your adrenaline. Preparing you for another battle, the chance of self-poisoning certainly seemed possible in the state before you, although whether you cared to face the sneaking suspicion, or not, his lapis lazuli eyes captivated you. Washed from the deepest shades of blues stranded at grape hyacinth hues. Straight face, and unwilling to crack, but the surprise somehow was evident. You would chalk it up to instinct, born of that adrenaline rush, and nothing more. “Ah, Welcome home,” he had stated, monotonous despite the way your thoughts whispered that you had caught him off guard. His eyes beginning to drift to your hand, having caught his own within their grasp. His own hands warmed from the kitchen while yours touched on small touches of the inclined weather that awaited the outdoors. The realization you had grabbed him so familiarly touching your ears and drawing your eyes to the corner of your lashes, releasing him. Warm and embarrassed, as you bit your lip. Studied the ruins of produce spread across the counter. Suspected that he had intended to clean as soon as he had finished his meal.

“You’ll give yourself food poisoning,” you returned.

His eyes catching yours before inspecting the bite between the chopsticks. Rotating his wrist in an attempt to determine the risk. Unsure of how to proceed, the Water Hashira was not exactly known for his conversational skills. Nor quick to admit that he needed assistance. You had been well aware of that for your time working together, his often-incompatible nature often setting awkwardly against the other members of the Corps, you were often partnered together. Not that you had ever minded, in fact, you enjoyed the small moments together. Enjoyed the small wrinkle he would get in his brow when he concentrated, the wiggle of his eyebrows would reveal when he was embarrassed. Likely a result of feeling he had pressed too far, inconvenienced you in a way. The first time you had witnessed it, was when he had caught you. Your footing met awkwardly against the mountain side, and the blood loss from a demon inflicted wound had grown too heavy on you. Dulled your senses, and caused you to slip. His grasp had been firm. Resolved to ensuring your safety, he had gritted his teeth when the wound was made. Revealed a level of rage you hadn’t recognized beneath the calm façade of his, and at the moment he dared to embrace you, his eyebrows twitched. Anxious, the smallest tint shift in his features as he searched your reaction. It had ended in you accepting a piggy back ride from him. Far closer than either of you two had ever dared to cross, much like now. Some part of you daring to push, after all, Ubuyashiki had requested your assistance. There would be nothing… more to meeting them. Just like there had been no underlining meaning to him carrying you to the Butterfly Mansion that day.

Through pursed lips, shy and unwilling to accept the weight at your chest, and the way it fluttered as you wielded a small kitchen knife, you leaned forward. As though you were instructing a small child, one new to the kitchen, and eager to learn. Rotated your wrists, adjusted his hands over the daikon as necessary. You had tossed his failed attempt into the compost bin, reassured him that it would not be a waste this way—his guilt was heavy and noticeable as you laid out the necessary ingredients, and tools you would require to complete dinner. Successfully able to determine that his rice was salvageable, and well-seasoned overall. One less thing to worry about, only the main course needed completing then. Had complied when he requested you show him, noticed the way his ears tinted, the quip of his brow serious and focused in the way that you adored as you leaned over him, daring to touch his hands, and demonstrate the proper technique. Left to simmer, you secured the salmon and laid it before him. Reminded him that unlike his duties, the kitchen blade required a softer movement. One like a stream rather than a wave, and not to fight the gentle ease of his wrist as he followed your instruction. Slice after slice, dropping the salmon into warm water left in the wake of the cooked daikon, and just as quick to retrieve it—you would not allow this salmon to suffer the same fate as the fish before it. In death, it deserved dignity. Not the disgrace the other one had endured. Watched as he transferred it to cold water, leaned over the counter as you tested the daikon to ensure that it was manageable temperature. Perfectly cooked, but able to handle before dropping it to the pot once more alongside an embellishment of seaweed. He had listened eagerly to you explain the importance of moderation in seasoning, his eyes followed your movements as though he were witnessing a kabuki theater. Traced your silhouette, watched as the steam traced you form. Told yourself that it was merely his focus that drew his attention to you. Shy and avoiding meeting his peering gaze, one that threatened to wake the core of your soul and release words you dare not whisper. Distant, hopeful thoughts intrusive and homely in nature. Dreams of a home upon retirement. Time spent in the kitchen just like this. Reveal yourself to him in a way that you know. Together… No, no, focus on the ginger, you hissed to yourself. Your fingers grasping the ginger far tighter than you intended. Not that he hadn’t noticed, but wished to convince yourself he hadn’t. There was nothing more to this, nothing outside of orders you had received, you reminded yourself as you carefully ladled the broth into a bowl. Garnishing with warm slices of daikon that glistened into the light. The delicate hint of ginger that embraced the sake, perfectly balanced. The feeling of GIyuu’s eyes glued to your form, the way he regarded you. New. Soft, and delicate as the way you placed the bowl before him, a side of rice alongside it.

There, you had told yourself. You would leave the kitchen cleaning to him. It was after all his mess in the first place. You would pick up the necessary, slip yourself some onigiri, and sneak away before he had the opportunity to realize the depth you were carrying. The impending worry that those intrusive thoughts, ones that lingered for his touch. To share in more than just one another’s company. It needed to be avoided at all costs, but his voice had caught you. You had rarely been able to escape his gaze.

“Will you.. eat with me?” Small, quiet. That wrinkle of his eyebrows that whispered his unsureness to you. Likely questioning if he had crossed the line, so completely unaware that your heart had done so long ago. How weak you were to resist him. How could he ask such of you? Did he truly not know? How would you deny him? What excuse could you offer? How much longer could you pretend that it were merely the duties that had bound you to one another? Nervous bite of your lip and the blush that burned at your cheeks as you nervously secured your own portion, his head turned from your own as you questioned whether you should sit across from him or… beside him? How could he be so unaware?

Perhaps, as oblivious as you were to the smile that caught his lips. The press of your shoulders providing extra warmth despite the cold of the night beginning to settle in. The hush of goosebumps that quivered down his back as he leaned into your shoulder. The salmon and daikon was good. Perhaps, the very best he had ever enjoyed, but the company was even better.

If you are interested in trying Giyuu's favorite meal, I highly recommend Honey'sAnime recipe for a more traditional approach, or Naoko Takei Moore's elivated dish.

#demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny x reader #tomioka giyu x reader #demon slayer #giyuu tomioka

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