FHR: Willful projections
Pairing: Chargestep, Sidestep days
Warnings: Nothing much, just a chat
Word Count: ~700
Summary: Riley learns her powers have changed while she has breakfast with Ortega at a restaurant after the Nanosurge.
“You okay?”
Your head hurts. It's nothing new, especially since you saved the city from the Nanosurge. The migraine after that split your skull like an overripe melon has receded, at least. A week at the ranch with Ortega provided minimal aggravation, a chance for your raw mind to scab over. Heal a little. You think you're getting better. You really hope you are.
“Riley?”
You rub your forehead, trying to lessen the pressure mounting inside. There are eyes all around you, looking, always looking, staring, dissecting, because Ortega draws eyes anywhere he goes. The attention is more intense, too intense for your sensitive mind. You weren’t ready to be in a crowded restaurant again like this, not yet. Ever, if you’re honest with yourself. You never should have let things get this far. Mask off. Hanging out in public. Face seen. Only a matter of time before it ends up on the front page of some gossip rag. You feel their thoughts teaming inside your skull like ants, speculating inanities like always. He would be flattered, but all you can do is sit there and shake.
If only everyone would just stop looking at you.
“Mierda… what did you…”
The pressure release is almost instant, and you sigh softly with relief, relaxing, until the sudden hand on your shoulder nearly makes you scream. Your eyes snap open to find Ortega leaning over the table just inches in front of you, brown eyes furrowed with concern.
“What did you do?” he asks in a harsh whisper, like he can be covert surrounded by this many people.
“What are you talking about?” you grouse, shoveling a bite of your cooling eggs into your mouth.
He gestures widely with his hands, and your eyes track along with him to find the entire restaurant silent, looking pointedly away from you.
What the… Fuck…
“It was you, right?” he hazards cautiously, and you shrug in response. His gaze turns shrewd as he tries to piece things together. “What were you just thinking about?”
“That I wanted everyone to stop looking at me…” you admit quietly, eyes flicking around to find that the only one unaffected is Ortega. So it has to be you. It has to be your telepathy. Nothing else would make sense. “But this is impossible, I've never—”
“You did," he interrupts, tapping your forehead softly. “The beach, remember? You made them stop.”
You stare down at your eggs, his scrutiny hitting you in a place you haven't felt in four years. “I… guess…” you mutter eventually. There really is no other explanation.
You like this quiet around you. No one looking. No one perceiving you. But the strain of the size of the barrier you instinctively threw up is starting to take its toll. You need to dial it back if you want to maintain it. You follow the edges of your field, thankfully not far outside the bounds of the building, and try to shape it like you would your mental shield, a little thought void exactly where you need it and no further.
“You can project now," he says softly, as the bubble you’ve made pulls back to just your table. The restaurant comes back to life around you, but your table is ignored like it’s empty. The waitress that had been getting him a fresh coffee walks right on by, and he doesn't even try to flag her.
When you look up at him again, the wide wonder in his eyes makes your face feel hot. “It’s not a big deal, stop making it one,” you say plaintively, rubbing your head again.
He scoffs a laugh, refusing to let you off the hook. “It is a big deal, you idiot. Don't you tell me it's not. This is incredible. What else can you do?”
You shrug and tuck back into your food. “I'unno…” you garble around your toast, piled high with too much jelly. Your sugar cravings have definitely gotten worse. Now you know why the increased energy has been needed. Your telepathy has always had a high demand for carbohydrates, and you feel yourself bolstering again as you eat.
What else can you do? You're sure you'll find out, one way or another. The real question is, how much will you keep growing?
Did Ortega just let Chen and Sidestep insult and harass each other for 5 years?
If so I’m judging Ortega for that. I hope they tried to break it up. I know Chen and Sidestep were both adults but that was work place bullying. That is the kind of thing that would get all three of them in trouble with HR if they had one to answer to.
thank you for the prompt! I'm going to go with #38 "A person’s weight as they lie on top of you" I may have an idea for #2 with ric and vesper this is probably as close as I get to smut these days, but with a healthy dose of angst because of who I am as a person 🥰 sidestep days/preheartbreak and mild retribution spoilers. also fuck the new post editior because it keeps erasing all my indents. so I’d recommend reading this on ao3.
from this sensory prompts list
upon a razor's edge
fandom: fhr
pairing: julia ortega/f!sidestep (Cynthia Basri)
rating: M no smut but some heavy petting mention of dissociating words: 1.4k
read on ao3
You’ve never been a hug fan of movies. The people on the screen too distant, no thoughts to touch, no impressions to get, so often you’ve misunderstood. Their motivations so hard to figure out, the hidden meaning behind their words impossible to decipher, but you still say yes when Ortega asks if you’d like to come over for dinner and a movie.
It’s something old: way before the big one, black and white, a relic of a different world. Dessert lays abandoned on the coffee table. Store bought, Ortega knew to play to their strengths, but even then, it had been too sweet, you’d only managed to eat half of it before giving up.
You’ve both migrated closer to the center of the couch, no longer safe in your corners. She’s close, so close, when did her arm go around your shoulders? You jump a little when her hand touches your leg, the touch is gentle, small absentminded movements, and you wonder if she even notices. Always so tactile, needing to touch, to connect, to hug with everyone. A slap on the back for Steel, a hug for Anathema, tossing an arm around Sunstream’s shoulders as she leave training. It means nothing to her. This closeness. You’d adjusted to it pretty well, no longer panicking and dancing away from her outstretched hands, until the kiss that was.
She keeps kissing you. You are sure you aren’t the only one she’s kissing, not with all the dates and events the tabloids are so happy to share, but it still feels special, personal. Maybe it’s because she’s the only person you’ve ever kissed. You can’t imagine ever kissing anyone else. Only Ortega would be stupid and stubborn enough to want to kiss you in the first place.
A glance, and she is looking at you, is she thinking of kissing you? You can’t tell. Anyone else and you could tell, but not her. Always a mystery.
You want her to. You shouldn’t, but you do. You’d never understood the saying about butterflies in your stomach, but you do now, the agitated swirling in your stomach like the fluttering of hundreds of wings matching the rapid beat of your heart. You keep waiting, waiting for her to bridge the gap like she always does. Her arm tightens a little on your shoulder and you draw in a quick breath, sure that any moment now she will move, but the only thing moving in her hand drawing small circles on your legs.
She’s not moving, just smiling at you with that smug look on her face like she’s the one with telepathy. Like she knows how badly you want. You want to scream, to push her away, to pull her closer, you can’t decide. You want her to take mercy on you and do something, Anything besides this waiting.
It feels like an eternity passes, but it’s probably only a moment or two, and then her lips are on yours. Soft, just a gentle pressure, which you answer with a hunger that surprises you both.
Her hand winds into your hair as she pulls you closer. The kiss deepening, leaving you grasping her arm for support. Firm muscles and the softness of her bare skin sliding under your palm.
She pushes forward, moving you backwards until your back hits the couch cushions and she is looming over you. A quiet gasp escapes you at the press of her body against yours. It’s overwhelming having her this close. It’s like standing outside during a storm. The crackling scent of ozone and the heady depths of her cologne mixing and filing your scenes. This is dangerous, but you feel so alive. She makes you feel alive.
You should push her away, but that would mean she stops touching you. You will have to stop it eventually, but not just yet. Your whole life is lived on the razor’s edge, why should this be any different?
She tastes like caramel. Just a hint of sweetness as she pulls your bottom lip into her mouth, the bite just sharp enough to make your body ache in ways you didn’t know it could.
Her mouth leaves your and you could cry from the loss, but then she is pressing hot wet kisses along your neck. A small moan escapes you as her lips press down on your pulse point and your hips twitch involuntarily. Her feel rather than hear her chuckle. She’ll be smug about this for sure, but you can’t bring yourself to care.
The static in her brain must be contagious. Pushing in and swallowing any rational thought until you feel like a storm of sensations. Her hands leaving trails over your skin. Even through your clothes all your hairs stand on end, as if every part of you wants to be closer to her. Ortega is a force of nature. How are you supposed to resist that, resist her? How are you supposed to pretend you even want to?
Have you ever felt more human than you do with her hands on you? Like you actually are your body rather than just sitting in the driver’s seat. There’s nowhere for your consciousness to escape to, the little pieces of your mind that are usually on alert, finding nothing to grip onto retreating back into yourself. Forced back into your body, into the moment, and her. Maybe that’s why you can’t stop this. Why you can’t give up the madness that is kissing Ortega.
Your nerves sings as she passes her hand down your side. Her grip digs into your hip, pulling you closer, so close, nothing but clothing between you. Her leg is slotted in-between yours and you can feel the heat of her where she is straddling your thigh. She rocks her leg against you. Just a little, just enough to make you groan.
Her fingers dip under your shirt, seeking skin. God, you wish you could feel her skin against yours, but all she finds is your suit instead. Your last line of defense, because you can’t actually go through with this. No matter how much you want to. Her movements slow down in surprise and then stopping all together in recognition.
“Expecting a fight?” she asks with a laugh.
“Always,” you respond as you take to opportunity to sit up, to put some distance between the two of you.
She doesn’t understand that this is a fight. A fight against yourself and her smile. A fight that you can’t lose, and it got too close tonight. If you let yourself give into your desires it would mean losing her. It would mean losing the illusion of humanity that you cling to. Losing the self that you’ve built from the ground up.
She frowns a little as you shift position, but she doesn’t protest. She looks a little wild, her cheeks flushed and her lips kiss swollen. She’s so beautiful that it makes your heart clench. You still don’t understand what she could see in you.
Nothing. It’s probably just boredom. It’s easier to think now that she isn’t touching you. The movie is over and the credit are rolling. You missed the ending.
“It’s late. I should get going.”
“Not too late. We could make it a double feature,” your voice is sultry, tempting, and she reaches out to run a hand down your back. You want to stay. You want to stay and lose yourself in her touch, but instead you jerk away.
“Or not,” you can hear the confusion in her voice. You don’t blame her. You shouldn’t have let it go this far in the first place. Of course, she’s going to be confused.
You should have put a stop to it after the first kiss, you tried. You really did. Even considered leaving the city, but you’d stayed, so sure it was just a passing impulse on Ortega’s part. After all she was used to playing the field. It can’t mean anything to her.
You’re halfway to the door before you hear her call your name.
“Yeah?” you ask just glancing over your shoulder. You don’t trust yourself to turn around and face her. Not when you can still feel the ghost of her hands on your body. Not when you want to break so badly.
“Text me when you get home okay.”
“I will,” you promise.
The night air is cold and bracing. Exactly what you need. You tell yourself you’ll be more careful in the future. You won’t let things go so far.
You’re a liar.
tagging (aski to be added/removed) @lord-king-saint @lilyoffandoms @roses-and-roux
I was talking (& reading) about Sidestep not believing Ortega when they compliment them. I thought of a another factor. Steel.
Chen has been insulting Sidestep and telling them they’re not a hero and worthy of working with the Rangers. The last thing he said to them was they were replaceable and not a hero. And Ortega does not put a stop to this. That has to hurt.
Now Sidestep does give Chen shit back and even mocks him for his weight from his mods (Which is a another can of worms and kinda ablest in my option) and can act like they have a thick skin. But it’s likely that Ortega knew Sidestep was insecure.
Sidestep has no way to know what Ortega was thinking. If they tell Sidestep they’re a hero and ask them to join in private but don’t argue with Steel for Step’s sake or tell him to shut up. What is Sidestep supposed to believe? It would be easy for them to wonder if Ortega agrees with Chen. To not trust Ortega’s words when they do this. Ortega’s a charmer after all. How would Sidestep know they aren’t charming them or just lying to be nice?
Curious about something. For people with multiple sidesteps do imagine your Sidesteps meeting Ortega for the first time in the same way for each Step or in different ways?
I’m leaning towards different ways but I can only think of two events so far.
When she was Sidestep Cynthia revealed in being what the farm didn’t want her to be.
She let herself indulge. She showed no respect to authority and refused to take anything serious outside the heat of battle. She questioned everything she could. Never kept a constant schedule. She let herself look messy and occasionally stand out. She worked out because she wanted to. She cut her own hair. Had a collection of hideous sweaters. She ate when and what she wanted.
It was her rebellion. Her petty revenge. To be the opposite of what the Farm wanted. To control her own life and live it freely and ignore judgement. She wanted to enjoy every minute she of the life and body that she had stolen.
