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radiance1 · 5 months

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Danny doesn't get into an accident, and he doesn't become a ghost. The portal? It does get turned on, although neither Danny, Jack, nor Maddie knew how it came to be, and nobody thought to ask Jazz because, well, she is utterly disinterested in Ghosts as a whole and everyone knew it, so why would she even be in their lab, and even more so near their portal??

Danny, along with having an affinity for space, also has one for stealing here, though he knows that it's wrong he just... loves do it. He loves the thrill that comes with taking what isn't his, and the chance at being caught in the act as well.

He got better at it than when he was younger, and it isn't like he keeps most of the stuff he steals. Well, most of it at least.

Anyways.

Danny is good at stealing, Danny likes stealing, but his family is already used to his antics, though his parents do have some kind of ghost thing going what with the portal to hell and what not, but he digresses. One day, an old family friend pops up and Danny is curious about him, interest doubling when he finds out the guy is rich.

So he steals something off the guy when they met, and he successfully stole some weird gem thing off the guy- Vlad or whatever- or at the very least, he thought he did. Because when Danny was in his room, Vlad knocked, entered (after getting his position obviously), and then said he would like his possession back.

Danny is quite surprised, but gives it back after asking how Vlad knew he stole it, Vlad just looked at him and smiled (Did his eyes just flash red?). Then said that Danny has a talent for stealing, and, well, Danny always knew he did, it was obvious really.

But hearing someone praising him for it is quite different from disappointment and lectures about why it's wrong when they find out it was him after a while.

Then he offered him a place where he could train said talent, and, well.

Danny didn't have anything better to do, really.

He didn't know what he was expecting, but actual stealth training wasn't it, nor was Vlad creating an actual goddamn museum filled with items of value with an actual security system and guards (He thinks they're robots) for him to actually try against.

This was... wildly out of Danny's depths. But again, he didn't have anything better to do. His grades did fall overtime since then, but he didn't really care much about it, it wasn't like he was some genius like Jazz, so why bother?

His friends bothered, but he just told them he was spending time with his godfather you know? Nothing bad or anything! Sam and Tucker wanted to meet him, and Danny took them along.

Vlad was a cool dude, and seemed to click well enough with Danny's friends, and much to Danny's chagrin was utterly appalled by Danny's falling grades, and told Danny to focus on his grades more, or he'll have to cut back his training to include studies.

Danny picked the latter.

A while later there's been the appearance of some ghostly hero who fought other ghosts and avoided his parents. Which is neat, he thinks. Sam was very interested in her, and Danny couldn't say he wasn't curious either.

Then that whole 'Amity Park hostile plant takeover' happened and uhhh. Sam developed plant powers and then somewhere along the line Tucker gained super intellect and then Danny is the only normal guy out of the three of them.

Well, he is a master thief in training but still.

Regrettably, Sam's parents don't like her newly developed powers, because she doesn't use it how they want her too, and Sam decided to stop using it all together, then Vlad popped in and was like "You can use your powers in this place I have prepared specifically for using powers" and told them not to question why he had such a room, because it looked pretty used and obviously not newly built.

Tucker becomes really good with tech, like, really good with it. Sam gets very powerful with her plant based powers, and Danny is kinda feeling... out of place? In his circle of friends.

He's a bit jealous, he won't lie.

So he asks Vlad if there's a way for him to get powers, and Vlad thinks on it for a bit, and says that there is but Vlad would need to run a few simulations before coming back to him.

A bit later, and Danny is taken down to Vlad's lab, Vlad asks if he's sure, Danny says yes, and then he goes under.

Then wakes up, and he has ghost powers. Although he doesn't have some of them, like intangibility, invisibility, or overshadowing (he never even knew they had that power) like normal ghosts though, but he isn't a ghost, so it made sense.

Vlad said he had to modify his body to be able to contain ectoplasm without any unnecessary risks, which is why Vlad took some time instead of doing it straight away.

Danny is stronger, more durable, more agile, stronger reflexes and stronger stamina, so Danny had to use Vlad's training room to get a proper grasp on his powers, and then his training had to be modified to suit his powers and it really good, suspiciously good.

Did Vlad have another student with superpowers before Danny? Is that why he knows how best to train Danny's powers, and also why he had a training room?

Then he completed his training, and he could finally be called a fledgling master thief! Then Vlad employed him in his service, to get some practical experience outside of Vlad's control.

First mission? To infiltrate, obtain a copy of and then wipe away any and all files in a GIW facility, Vlad asked Sam if she was willing to go with Danny, as her powers would prove useful, she agreed. Tucker is staying behind, as deploying him is much more danger than it's worth, he will be the one to hack into, copy, and wipe away the files when Danny and Sam gets to them though.

Vlad warned them, however. Because the city they're going to in one rife with crime and supervillains, so they'll have to lay low, and even lower because they don't want to catch the eyes of the night's protectors.

Which city are they going to?

Gotham City.

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 5 days

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Down Bad - A Joel Miller Drabble

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Pairing: Pre Outbreak Joel Miller x Female Reader Word Count: 800 Summary: You get ghosted after a one night stand with your handsome neighbor. Warnings: Drinking, smut remembrance, angst. A/N: Happy Tortured Poets Department release day! Thank you to @beskarandblasters for the amazing Taylor Swift Drabble Challenge AGAIN. I previously wrote Paper Rings for it. TBH, I stayed up until 3:30 AM listening to TTPD last night with @ohheypedrito and your girl is STRUGGLING TODAY, but well worth it. What an album.

One night out with your friends, one shared glance, one half smile, one opportunity, one drink bought, one phone number drunkenly tapped into his phone.

One date, one heated make out session in his truck, one moment of being heaven struck, one naked body left alone in your bed as he quietly leaves without a word.

One text telling him you had a good time, one week since you’ve heard from him, countless hours of yearning for your neighbor.

Across the street and two houses to the left, Joel Miller lives. Well manicured lawn, cute daughter who goes door to door selling Girl Scout cookies, large truck parked out the front dinged and well used.

You’ve been down bad for him since you first moved in, a quick introductory hello and wave one early morning as you took your dog for a walk, how could you be so attracted to a total stranger?

That stranger ignoring you from that moment on, leaving you feeling nuts. Sometimes you’d take your dog for a walk when you’d notice him mowing the lawn, sneaking a glance under your sunglasses, watching the sweat make his skin glisten. Teenage crush vibes, teenage petulance coming out because you can’t have him or his attention.

You never see him with another woman there, only his loud, precocious brother Tommy who stops to talk with you whenever you’re outside. You know he likes you, but you’re too drawn to his older brother’s beam to even want to lead him on.

That night shared between the two of you, it almost feels like an evil experiment. He fucked you, fucked you hard, stared into your eyes as he came all over you, devoured your cunt as if he was starving, made you cum so hard it felt like you were floating in a cosmic cloud of sparks, then he left you naked and alone. He owned your body, like it was some sort of hostile takeover.

You’re barely even sure it happened, like if you speak about the existence of that night, everybody will tell you it never happened, that you’re nuts.

Why did he leave you like that? Why did he strand you the way he did? Why can’t you have him? Why cant you have an us?

Doesn’t he know what you would do for his attention? How you feel like you could just die when you think back to that night? You’re pathetic for him, isn’t it romantic?

You replay the words he uttered against your skin as he fucked you. “You feel so fucking good, like you were made for me.”

The taste of your sweat against your lips makes you almost want to cry as you try to run the thoughts of him away on the treadmill at the gym. The last time you sweat like this his cock was stretching you, his hand holding your cheek, his tongue languidly licking into your mouth.

——

After a night of staring at the ceiling, sleep not visiting you, tossing and turning not being able to get the thought of the weight of his body against yours, you decide to sit out on your porch with coffee in hand, staring at the sky as dawn approaches. A door slamming across the street startles you. He’s outside. This is it, you live in the same old familiar town, he can’t escape you, you can’t escape him. You trudge across the street, only clad in your shorts and your old Rangers shirt. You wave at him to get his attention as he finishes lifting his tool box onto his lift gate.

You see him swallow as you stand at the edge of his driveway.

“G’morning,” he nods. “Quite early.”

“It is. Could’t sleep.”

“Happens to me too.”

“Mm,” you tap your foot, arms folded across your chest. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then why are you ignoring me?”

“S’complicated.”

“Try me, it’d make no difference.”

“Alright,” he runs a hand through his hair, “you’re too good. I don’t think it’s smart… for me to be with someone right now. Too much going on, ’n it’s safer if we just leave it at that. It’s better for you.”

“So, you fuck me, whisper all those sweet things in my ear, make me feel like I’m the chosen one, then just leave? How romantic Joel.”

“Never said I was the romantic type.”

“No, you’re just the fuck ‘em and strand ‘em. I guess.”

“Listen,” he looks down at his watch, “I gotta get goin’, got an important job to start. I really would like to talk more, I respect you too much ’n I really like you, I just think it’s better if you find someone else.”

“Right, well, see you around neighbor,” you bite.

Fuck it, you can’t have him.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #taylor swift #ttpd #down bad #the tortured poets department

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flowersandbigteeth · 1 year

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Meeting your shadowbeast boyfriend

Shadowbeast X Reader

Word count: 1.5K

Summary: You break up with your boyfriend only to find a new lover

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

Headcannon

W: name calling, general breakup, mention of drugs, character death

You’ll never know exactly when it happened. It could have been when he took over the company or when the first billion hit his bank account, but you were watching your once sweet and nerdy boyfriend packing his bags in front of you. Only he was no longer your sweet, nerdy boyfriend. When did that happen?

His face was red with anger as he enumerated your many faults to you.

Lazy, he said. Undignified, he said. Dumb as a rock, he said. A bitch, he finally noted.

Every word was punctuated by another one of his new suits being stuffed into his brand new designer suitcase.

You tried to hold your tears back, be a real bitch. He deserved it after all, but you weren’t any of the things he said you were and you certainly didn’t have his cold heart.

How could he say these things to you? You thought as you sniffled in front of him.

You’d been a happy couple for five years!

You were a photographer for the local paper. You didn’t make a lot of money, but it was a noble profession. The city was a small one with little going on, so you mostly showed up at citywide events and sports games to take shots of the mayor. You came home on time every night and made your boyfriend dinner.

He’d been the workaholic, code obsessed nerd who worked late into the night at the office. It bothered you, yes, but you never said anything. Rick had ambition, who could fault him for that? You’d always packaged up his dinner and had it waiting for him when he came home. Sometimes you’d even walk to his work late at night to bring him a sweater and thermos of coffee.

There was a time when he would welcome you with a kiss and chided you for being out in the dangerous streets after dark. That time had passed, eventually those kisses turned to harsh rebukes about how you were bothering him while he worked. Finally, one day the security guard stopped letting you past the front door all together.

So you just shivered and sobbed while he told you that you could keep everything in your shitty apartment because he never wanted to have to think of your sorry face again.

When he’d finally slammed the door, you just collapsed into a ball on the couch and cried. When had things gotten so twisted? You really couldn’t put a pin on a particular day or event, but slowly your boyfriend had become a different person.

The man you knew before would have never blackmailed the CEO of the company so he could take his place in a hostile takeover, but this man did. He hadn’t bragged about what he’d done or anything, but despite what he said you weren’t stupid. You’d overheard the threatening calls he’d placed from the bathroom and even cleaned up some of the magazines he’d cut up to write his evil notes, even though they were your expensive photography issues.

You’d try to stick by him. He was your boyfriend after all and you wanted to be a supportive lover. Surely he had a plan. He wouldn’t be doing all of this for no reason, right?

It doesn’t matter now, you thought, sinking into your familiar couch cushions.

You were so exhausted from crying, you slipped into a deep slumber, your jaw clenched and your fists tight.

You were so tense, you didn’t wake to the gentle scrape of claws over your cheek as they brushed your hair out of the way or the soft kiss that was placed on your forehead before the creature that had been watching your tragedy slipped out of the room.

You woke to your phone blaring on your kitchen counter. You untangled the blanket you must have wrapped yourself in in your sleep from your limbs and scrambled over to pick it.

“I’m so sorry (Y/N). You don’t have to cover this story if you don’t want to. We’ll send someone else over,” your boss said into the receiver.

“What…? What are you talking about?” you murmured back, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“The police haven’t contacted you?” she asked.

“No…what’s going on?” you muttered. You didn't want to play twenty questions right then.

There was a pause on the other end.

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, but Rick was found dead in a hotel room with four or five sex workers. They're still investigating, but the rumor is it was a drug overdose. Tainted cocaine. They all died of heart attacks. Spooky stuff really….but erm…I’m deeply sorry for your loss. Please take as much time as you need.”

You numbly hung up the phone and ran to the television, flicking it on.

Sure enough, your ex boyfriend’s name was all over the local news with a photo you took of him, smiling in front of his company plastered on the screen.

Local CEO found dead in hotel full of sex workers.

You glanced at your phone, noticing you’ve missed many calls. The numbers you don't recognize must have been reporters. You’re thankful you somehow slept through them.

You flopped back down on the couch feeling strangely numb. You’d never wish death on Rick, but that’s where he went straight from breaking up with you? To party with girls and do drugs in celebration? Did your relationship really mean nothing to him? Were you really just a burden to him all along?

A fresh batch of tears threatened to flow over your face as the poisonous thoughts rolled around in your head. You looked at the apartment you’d styled to Rick’s picky preferences. Gray everything, because he couldn’t stand color. There were mounted computer processors hanging on the walls instead of pictures, because he didn’t like them.

You snarled at the bland decor and hopped to your feet jerking the processors down one by one and tossing them in a pile on the floor. Then you yanked up the ugly gray rug you’d compromised on and tore the boring gray sheets he insisted on off the bed.

To your surprise an envelope flopped to the floor from Rick’s side of the bed as you removed the sheets.

You gasped, thumbing the hundred thousand dollars that was stuffed inside in mixed bills. This must have been Rick’s emergency fund. He’d gotten so rich he’d forgotten all about it. You shrugged and peeled off a few hundreds, stuffing the rest back under the mattress. It’s not like he was coming back for it.

With some money in your pocket and a pile to take to the thrift store, you spent your afternoon avoiding phone calls and shopping for new home decor, returning with a brightly colored rug rolled up over your shoulder and a handful of colorful posters in bags.

As the sun set you turned your attention to redecorating your apartment. You laid down the rainbow braided rug and hung up the framed posters you bought from the comic book store.

Finally, when you were happy with their placement you sat back to look at the new pictures.

Rick had always thought your love for fantasy fiction was uncultured, but since he was gone you indulged yourself with illustrations from your favorite series. There was a fantasy landscape with some pretty waterfalls, a picture of an elf riding a buck, and your favorite a spookier one…a picture of a dark monster with large teeth hovering over a little forest nymph.

“I like that one,” a deep voice behind you rumbled and you jumped three feet in the air, whirling around to find…nothing…just an odd cloud of smoke. Shivering, you slowly raised your fingertips to the black whorls and they coalesced into a massive form.

Before your eyes a creature 7 feet tall with midnight blue skin appeared before you. His arcing horns scraped the ceiling and his large teeth grinned down at you with an evil smile. He extended a long claw and gently pushed your hair out of your eyes.

“Don’t be afraid, darling,” he said, his voice deep and husky.

Your brain tingled as the sultry tones hit your eardrums.

“W-Who…W-what…What are you?” you stammered.

His smile got even wider revealing how many sharp teeth he had.

“I’m a shadow beast,” he said cheerfully, “and as for who I am, my name is Rafe Boldjaw, your mate. It’s a pleasure to speak to you finally, my darling.”

The words rattled in your head like loose teeth.

“A shadow…what?” you mumbled, then you glanced up at him, “mate? W-why are you here?”

His long tongue rubbed his large canine thoughtfully.

“I was here to eat a dark soul,” he said, “we shadow beasts are attracted to them.”

Your heart pounded. A dark soul? You didn’t feel dark, but you had stolen a dead man’s money. You held up your hands.

“I’m sorry! It was just a few hundred dollars! I’ll put it back I swear! I get paid on Friday! Please don’t eat my soul!”

He chuckled and circled you, his eyes eating you up, while his long claws lifted your hair off of your neck. You were so incredibly cute, he thought, the way you stuttered and trembled in front of him.

“Your soul is too pristine to eat,” he said, smiling, “though it is quite beautiful. No, I’ve already consumed the one I was hunting…I’m here for purely…personal reasons.”

You gulped, unsure what that could possibly mean.

Behind you, you felt a hot rush of air hit your neck as he sniffed you.

“B-but…i-if you don’t want my soul…whose soul did you eat?” you asked, unsure if you even wanted to know.

“No one of note,” he said casually, his long claws scraping your lower back, making you a tingle go up your spine, “a twisted CEO like many others I’ve eaten in my time.”

You gulped.

“You ate Rick’s soul?!” you whispered, hoarsely.

“Was that his name?” he chuckled, “he tasted the same as the others. Deliciously dark from all of his misdeeds. Though I have to correct you. I don’t want to eat your soul, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”

He returned to your front sliding a thick finger under your chin and tipping your face up to him. Smirking, he lovingly considered the light freckles on your nose and the little lines around your eyes hinting at your age; the things that made you so perfectly you.

“You are so soft and lovely, like a blooming flower,” he said, “I’m taking you as mine.”

“Y-yours?” you asked.

He gave you his eerie smile and glanced around your living space.

“It seems you have room now that a certain pest is out of the way,” he said, “so I’ll be moving in.”

You gulped. Moving in?

#male yandere #monster oc #monster boyfriend #monster x girl #monster lover #dark shadows #yandere fluff #fluff #oc #oc x canon #fantasy fiction #my fic stuff #my fic post #monster romance #monster x human

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ladyzayismultifandom · 7 months

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King of Second Chances

DomesticAvengers!Loki x Reader

Genre/Rating: tooth-rotting fluff with best friends to lovers

Description: Contrary to popular belief, Loki does have friends... just not on Asgard. Or Midgard. Except one.

After the battle of New York, Frigga managed to convince Odin one last time to have mercy on his adoptive son Loki who recently found that out in his defense but in no way can explain his revenge hostile attempted takeover of Midgard aka Earth. Odin decided that if some time on Earth managed to teach Thor the lesson he needed to learn to be worthy of the hammer, then Earth should be able to do the same for Loki.

So until he proves that he's not the evil ego-maniac that's co-dependent on the lie his father told him about being destined for greatness when he was a peace offer child, Loki is to stay on Earth.

Specifically in Avengers Tower under close surveillance.

None of the team especially Clint and Natasha wanted him there but they couldn't trust him living on his own with some of his magic still intact. So down the hall from Thor's room soon became Loki's room and they all lived happily ever after. Sort of

"Loki did you eat my Poptarts?"

"And why would I eat those disgusting sugar-coated sandwiches?'

"Because you know I like them?"

"Out" Thor suddenly falls through a hole Loki created sending him back to his room.

Loki looked up at the vents to make sure Clint wasn't in them before relaxing back in his bed with the book before he was once again interrupted by a knock on his door. He rolls his eyes begrudgingly before swinging the door open with a wave of his hand.

"Hey, Loki..."

"Yes, Y/N," Loki says not caring to lift his head away from his book.

"Can I hide my pop tarts in here? Thor keeps eating them."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because I know you don't like them so Thor won't look for them here." Unable to argue with that, Loki shrugged.

"Very well. Hide them here"

"Yes!" you jumped onto his bed and hugged him tightly to you shocking the magical entity to his core.

"Thank you, Loki," you shock him again by giving him a light kiss on the cheek.

".... You're welcome"

This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Two years has gone by since then and while Loki is still not welcome back in Asgard he has regained almost all of his magical abilities, has been caught trying to go back twice, and with Frigga's help made his room in Avengers tower look almost identical to his chambers in the palace. One would say that he's gotten comfortable on Earth.

Loki still hides your Pop-Tarts in his room and several other things you don't want the team to see despite your room being one floor below his. The only ones who dare go in his room are you and sometimes Thor but he uses an illusion spell to make your stuff look like his so there is no suspense. You could have asked him to do that for your room but having some of your things in his room gives you the excuse to see him and everybody knows that. Except Loki of course.

After another successful mission with Natasha and her sister that she never mentioned until now you were back in Avengers Tower and you couldn't wait to tell your bestie all about it.

"LOKI!!!!" You burst through his door to find a towel around his waist and hair. His chest still had some water dripping down to a place that you didn't realize you'd want to see until now. Shit you're staring

"Um, I'll come back" You quickly closed the door and headed straight to the elevator. If anyone saw how you repeatedly pushed the close doors button they'd think you insane. You quickly went into your own room and let out the breath you had been holding only to open your eyes to-

"You know you were much cuter when you were afraid to knock on my door." You jumped holding your hand to your chest wishing your heart could just calm down but the man you just ran away from clearly transported to your room.

"I see you gained more of your magic back."

"One of my favorite tricks." Loki held up a bag of sweets. He patted the spot next to him on your bed and it was like you never left. You happily jumped into his arms. Let the celebration begin.

“So Agent Romanoff wasn’t alone before Barton came around. Interesting. Hit me” He opened his mouth and you gave him another caramel candy. Something you like to do when debriefing your missions with him is to eat sweets and comb his hair. He’ll never admit it but hearing your voice with your hands massaging his scalp made him feel like a King.

“I know right?! I can’t believe she’s been hiding that from us this whole time. I thought we’d run out of secrets in Avengers Tower by now. What about you?”

“Mm that feels nice” he whispered to himself not paying attention. You took a curl of his and wrapped it around your finger before yanking harder than usual.

“Ow!” He looked up at you

“Now that I have your attention what did you do while I was gone?” You held up your brush threateningly at him. Chuckling he laid his head back down in your lap closing his eyes without any sign of fear.

“I read, painted, slept, squabbled with my oaf of a brother, the usual.”

“Do you ever think the two of you will be as close as you were back then?”

“I’m not sure. I did try to kill him after all but he does try. I’ll give him that.”

“You tried to kill me too” You mumbled

“You’re different.”

“How different?” You continue brushing his hair slowly. Like a cat he purrs.

“You are… kind in a way that’s admirable and naive yet you hunt people for a living. It’s confusing.” You gently take his head in your hands staring right into his emerald green eyes.

“Are you saying I should consider a new career path?”

“I’m saying you are the most dangerous being in the nine realms.” He whispered.

“And your best friend” You whispered back coming a little closer.

“My only friend” The two of you smile at each other.

“Jarvis please tell me you got that” The two of you sat up quickly embarrassed that you’d been caught by Tony in what would look like two lovers staring into each others eyes even though you were nothing more than friends. Right? Without a thought you chased Tony all around the tower with your brush desperately trying to get that footage of the two of you.

Unsure of when it started Loki realized that the beautiful friendship that once was had blossomed into something else entirely. He was bound to mess it up but he knew you’d give him a second chance. He is the king of those after all and you are worth all the chances he can get.

A/N: Happy Loki day! I was supposed to post this the other day but I didn’t know what I wanted to write yet. Thanks for your patience. There’s more to come!

#ladyzay #ladyzaymasterlist #15daysoffluff #loki #domestic avengers #loki x reader #tom hiddleston

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darsynia · 1 year

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Hand(s) Off (Complete) | Ch 6: Fantasy

(Steve Rogers/f!Reader sex pollen-esque multichapter)

STORY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | SERIES | PREV

Summary: You and Steve have to navigate the aftermath of the overexposure to Mistress, and something tells you that your mood swings and inability to self-satisfy is directly related to the drug…

Length | Warnings: 4,030 | masturbation MINORS DNI

Fill: Adoptable ‘Pheremones’ from @allcapsbingo

Tags (please request!): @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan @brooke0297 @caplanreads @mrsevans90 @hails270105 @venusfalling @zzz000eee

Fantasy

Steve doesn’t take sex lightly. He doesn’t take attraction lightly either, and that’s what makes everything so confusing, because he likes you. Most of what he knows about you comes from Bucky, despite the time you two have spent near each other, and while these positive, protective things he’s feeling seem logical, there’s no way they’re natural.

Bottom line: Steve doesn’t think he can trust his gut when it comes to you. His gut says you’re exactly the sort of girl he wants to get to know. He wants to bring you flowers, take you to a baseball game, maybe hold your hand as he walks you back from a date. All things he’s skipped right past, thanks to Mistress. All things he might not have wanted, if it weren’t for the way the two of you met.

All things he maybe shouldn’t want at all, if Bucky wants them too.

Steve levers himself off of you with a hand on the wall and one on your shoulder, careful to project as much respect as he can, despite what’s just happened. He can still feel the echo of your satin-smooth skirt on his fingers, and that’s private enough, given the other after-effects of the explosive kiss you've just shared. Backing away quietly, he stops after just a few steps to watch you, telling himself it’s not to admire the way the deep breaths you’re taking accentuate your breasts. No, he’s watching your closed-eyed expression shift between secretly pleased and embarrassed.

“Did you take out the earpiece?” you ask quietly.

“I threw it,” he admits, and your eyes open to look at him first in shock, then in amusement, and then both of you fully crack up. The laughter is such a release, such a relief, that he’s wiping amused tears from the corners of his eyes when the door opens.

Bruce sends you both giggling again when he says, in an Annoyed Dad Voice, “The preliminary test results are in.’

“So let me see if I have this right,” you say fifteen minutes later, folding your hands on the conference table in front of you. “You detected pheromones in the enclosure, an unusually high level of them.” Banner nods. “They’re recognizably pheromones but not anything you’ve seen before, and there’s two kinds?”

“Three,” Steve says in a stunned voice, trying to be helpful even now.

“Well, technically the third one is a combination of the other two, one from each of you, and it’s so complex I’m not sure I can call it a pherom--” Banner cuts off as Dr. Lyonne clears her throat beside him. “Sort of, yes.”

You and Steve are on one side of the long table, with the two doctors at the other. It feels like you’re at a hostile takeover meeting, where two sides negotiate how much freedom the defeated company will have-- except you and Steve are the ones who have been taken over, and the answer on freedom is as yet unclear.

“Okay, setting aside the third one, then.” You pull in a deep breath and let it out. There will be time to freak out about everything they’re telling you another time, when you’re not in the middle of learning about it. “You’re saying we were both hot and horny for an unnaturally long time with Mistress in our systems, and that made the drug… teach our bodies to create these pheromones? Are you sure you don’t want to go get the Ancient Aliens guy to deliver this news?”

Banner does a wince-chuckle and looks down at the table. When he looks up, his expression is the same bleak, apologetic one he’d started with. “Yeah, I know it sounds ridiculous, but this is clearly alien biology. I doubt it helps at all, but if it hadn’t been for what happened to you two, we’d be a lot more in the dark about this.”

“You’ll need to study us to figure out how to reverse it,” Steve breaks in. You look over at him, note that his back isn’t touching the chair. If there’s an ‘official’ way to sit in a chair as a military man, that’s what he’s doing.

“If it helps, my husband and I are also submitting samples. I imagine we’ll need to come in and have you check to see if we give off any pheromones?” Dr. Lyonne says, looking to Banner.

He’s nodding gravely. “Yes. Without the accompanying symptoms, I doubt there are any, particularly not this long since the incident. At the level that we detected them from you two, though…” He gestures to your side of the table. “You say you were about forty, fifty feet apart at the performance, but both of you felt better last night, and even better today?”

You feel Steve’s eyes on you as you nod, and you can tell by Banner’s look of satisfaction that you’ve both responded in the affirmative; he pushes back from the table, obviously uncomfortable with the boardroom setting.

“Ok, we have an imperfect two-week sample, I’d like to have both of you come in every day for two weeks. Obviously I can’t take blood every day, but I’ll set up something to detect the pheromones.”

Dr. Lyonne swivels to face Banner as he paces the windows. “How about we split a lab in three, have each of them enter separately, meet in the middle after we get their individual resul--”

“We’d compensate you both for this, of course,” Banner breaks in. You see Dr. Lyonne’s wry smile and wonder if she’s used to having ideas so good her boss wants to move on before she’s fully articulated them. She seems like a strong enough personality to handle it, at least.

“I’m happy to help, but I can’t take any money. It wouldn’t be right.”

“We’re not paying you for sex, Rogers,” Lyonne says, a challenging look on her face.

Even though you’re not looking at him, you can feel Steve’s dismay. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t need to be paid for something I’d be--”

He cuts himself off, and there’s enough unsated lust simmering in your system to enjoy the possibilities of that sentence. I don’t need to be paid for something I’d be doing anyway.

“Steve, you have to understand, it’s unethical for me not to pay you for this. The city, the planet needs the information we’ll be collecting, and I hate that it’ll take so long, given what we’re learning,” Banner says, walking over to grip his abandoned chair. He looks agitated but not angry. “Ideally you’ll both be anonymous, but how do you think anyone’s going to take my results studying an aphrodisiac if they realize that one of the subjects aren’t compensated for their time? No one will believe the results are genuine!”

“All right, but if we’re going to mention ethics, I want to point out that it’s not ethical to force Dee to participate in this at all, paid or not.”

Banner pulls in a breath, but you turn your chair and say, “Wait. Steve, I get it. You chose the serum-- but Tony Stark didn’t choose the magnet in his chest. Bucky didn’t choose--”

“Okay, I hear you,” Steve says, reaching out to put his hand over yours where you’d been holding on to the edge of the table. The immediate calming effect is almost annoying, and you glare at him for a second, sending his eyebrows skyward.

“You don’t feel that? It’s like a mini injection of Xanax or something,” you grouse.

A notebook slides across the table, followed by a pen you have to spin your chair around and pull free of Steve to grab before it falls to the floor.

“Write that down?” Dr. Lyonne’s scarlet lipstick’d grin is almost predatory.

“I feel it,” Steve belatedly answers under his breath to you as Lyonne and Banner confer across the room in urgent voices. You pause your writing mid-sentence, biting your lip. This turns Steve bashful adorable, like that helps any, saying, “Shoot, sorry. I’ll just--” and getting up.

“I assume you want me to keep away from Steve except during the tests, but what about Bucky?” you ask aloud, covering for everything that’s chaotic inside your body and your mind right now.

Steve speaks up, quick and gruff. “That’s right, if the two of them want to start dating, how will that--”

“Steve! That’s not--” Your body is tuned for pleasure today, and this sends you images of Bucky you’ve never pictured with your waking mind before. A challenging smile, his arm held out in expectation that you’ll of course take it, the sexy fit of his leather jacket and your secret knowledge of what’s underneath…

You press your eyes closed and open them to see three very interested pairs of eyes focused on you.

“Bucky is my friend,” you say, a twinge of guilt at the boundaries you’d just mentally crossed making your tone more brittle than necessary. “I was asking because the two of them live together. Are you expecting me to stay away from anywhere Steve could be, to avoid contaminated pheromone test results?”

Dr. Lyonne leans close to Banner to say something you don’t catch, and he nods before saying, “To be honest, I haven’t thought through all of the logistics. How about the two of you figure out a good time of day to stop by for testing, so there’s at least 22 hours between each, and I’ll get back to you on that question? Say, this weekend?”

“Four days,” Steve says. “Do you want us to stay apart in that time?”

You have no idea how you want that question to be answered.

“I uh, hmm.” Banner puts his hands on his hips and scrunches up his face, clearly thinking. “Better start the habit of once a day, so it’s easier, come Monday?”

“Phrasing!” Dr. Lyonne groans, waving Banner off with one hand and gesturing at the two of you frantically. “Run! Shoo! Before he starts getting more descriptive!”

You get home at lunch time and lean up against the apartment door after you lock it. Your roommate won’t be home for hours, and now that you’re alone, all you can think about is Steve Rogers’ frantic lips on yours.

Closing your eyes, you go through the motions of stripping off your ‘outside armor’ as you relive those heady moments. Toeing one shoe off leads to a few seconds of remembering the way his fingers dragged along the nape of your neck before he asked to kiss you. On your way to your bedroom, you drop your bag on the back of the couch, then steady yourself on it, thinking about that first exquisite swipe of his tongue against yours.

You almost turn your ankle in the hallway because you forgot to take off your other shoe.

The heat of embarrassment quickly shifts back to arousal when you’re finally in your bedroom, with the door locked behind you. That’s when you realize your keys are still in your hand. You usually hang them up on a hook, or at the very least, put them in your bag.

“Completely wrecked for Steve Rogers,” you say aloud.

Fuck, even his name sounds different to you. Instead of living in your memory banks as Bucky’s childhood friend, someone decent and good and loyal, he’s… well, right now he’s a taste in your mouth. One you can’t get enough of.

You leave your skirt in the middle of the floor.

Shirt and bra go flying in the general direction of your dresser. Something in the back of your mind tells you that it’s a terrible idea to associate that particular paragon of values and virtue with hedonistic, desperate pleasure, but you cannot possible bring yourself to care. Not with the memory of Steve Rogers’ lips latched to your neck. Not with his need-distorted sounds of assent vibrating through you.

Your fingers feel clumsy as you rush your device from the drawer, accidentally striking the button that starts the pulating rhythm you love most. Grateful for the privacy of a silent, empty apartment, you throw yourself diagonally on your bed. The toy in your hand sounds far too loud to be decent, and god, the ghost of Steve Rogers is invading every inch of you today, isn’t he?

There are places on you he hasn’t been, your mind supplies as you settle into the silky indulgence of your sheets. Setting the vibrator next to your head but not turning it off, you slide your hand down to slip the tips of your fingers past the waistband of your panties. Don’t touch your breasts. Pretend he wants to, but he won’t let himself.

That thought has you arching your hips up, your eyes clenched shut. God, your naughty mind is turning the taboos of this whole situation into something delicious, and you can’t be fucked to care.

Honestly, given the taboos of this whole situation, ‘can’t be fucked’ is likely to be true, and is that fair? No.

Grabbing your blanket, you throw the edge over your eyes and let yourself picture Steve Rogers trapped in the room, able to see you, unsure of whether to participate. Your nipples tighten at the thought, and you push your fingers down, finding your folds wet with the wanting of him. Shit, you’re in it now, because you used to let yourself imagine a faceless man, someone who wanted everything you had to give. Now all you can imagine is Steve, as though his broad shoulders have taken up the entire doorway in your mind, intimidating anyone else who might have designs on you.

“Oh, fuck!” you voice, grabbing the toy-- because the thought of a jealous Steve has ramped you up to Mistress levels of desire. You’d told yourself the whole journey home that the first thing you needed to do was try to come. Sure, you’d orgasmed today and it had been glorious, but this-- As you fit the toy exactly where you like it most (panties on for your imaginary guest), an outrageous thought occurs, and you're already indulging yourself, so why not keep going? “For science,” you gasp aloud, rocking your hips.

Would Steve disapprove of this display? Would he watch, or stop you?

Would he join you?

With your eyes tightly closed and the weight of the blanket preventing you from seeing anything, you can feel Steve's presence in the room, even though you know he isn’t there. The thought that your desire is linked with his, that maybe right now it belongs to him in a twisted, dangerous way heightens every buzz and touch, and your orgasm rolls over you with powerful certainty.

Bruce and Dr. Lyonne are deep in discussions of their plans when you leave, and Steve doesn’t want to interrupt. Truthfully, he’s glad he can be a help with these tests. As he rides up in the elevator to his apartment, the reassuring thought strikes him that few users are likely to resist the aphrodisiac pull of the drug. He hopes that means not many people are caught up in this strange cycle of desire and proximity.

Bucky’s in the living room watching a movie when Steve lets himself in. There are no messages for JARVIS to inform him about, and he grabs some water before walking over to see what film it is. Bucky’s face is wary, confused, even concerned, enough so that he doesn’t notice Steve until he sits down.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. This--” Buck hits pause on a scene that looks so similar to the torture he’d described under HYDRA that Steve grabs the remote and shuts the whole thing off. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve got a--” Bucky feels his pocket, the surface of the couch beside him, lifts up a book Steve’s been reading to get to sleep over on the table. “Lost it already, that figures. Dee wrote out the scenes I should skip. It’s The Matrix.”

Steve hasn’t heard of it, but he knows what his friend is like. “This one of the ones you’re supposed to skip?”

“Yeah,” Bucky grins. “She’ll probably yell at me.”

“Only if watching it messes you up,” Steve says, shoving the rim of his glass to his lips for a sip, so he doesn’t say anything stupid about you. The secret that he’d touched you again burns his mouth like bourbon.

Bucky gets up and stretches, backing away from the couch so the movements don’t hit Steve. “You get those tests done?”

“You could have warned me you were planning to send her over,” Steve says. His voice sounds more unhappy than he’d meant to show, so he frowns, which makes things worse.

“Would you have gone?”

Steve tries to think of an answer that isn’t a lie, and when he can’t, he looks down and shakes his head. “What if I tell you Bruce wasn’t ready?”

“Banner was like a kid in a candy store, I can tell you that without even being there,” Bucky says. “You figure anything out?”

The array of ‘yes’ answers to that aren’t safe to say aloud, Steve decides. “He thinks it’s changed us, taught our bodies to make some kind of chemical that messes us up until we’re close enough to swap our individual versions, I guess. He wants us to meet up once a day for two weeks to test it, starting Monday.”

Bucky sets a firm hand of reassurance on his shoulder from behind the couch, and Steve lets out a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding in.

“That’s good-- the part where he figures it out, I mean. The two of you haven’t been yourselves.”

“She doesn’t deserve this, Buck.”

“Good thing it’s you, then.”

Steve reaches up, squeezes his friend’s hand, and then gets up. “That’s not the message your fist sent me,” he teases. It’s a risky thing to say; the punch had been thrown after Steve’s low-ebb, frustrated, self-flagellating comment that Bucky was just mad it wasn’t him in the room with her.

“If you didn’t get the message, I’d be happy to send it again,” Bucky shrugs. “Your room’s ready, by the way. All new furniture put in this morning, while you were gone.”

It’s an out, and Steve takes it, grabbing the laundry basket of his clean clothes and heading into the hallway. As reported, his room is completely redone. He stands in the doorway and blinks at it for a few minutes, then asks JARVIS to dial up a number. He could do it on his phone, but this feels more appropriate.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony says on the second ring. “Guessing you saw the room.”

“This is too much, Tony,” Steve says, walking over to touch the clearly antique dresser. It looks exactly like the one in his parents’ bedroom, so much so that he wouldn’t put it past Stark to have done the research to find out the exact model, rather than making a lucky guess.

“Don’t chew through your sense of obligation, Steve, it’s not all vintage. There have been much-needed improvements to mattress design and bed construction in those middle decades.” There’s a pause, and then Tony says, “You wouldn’t have stayed in there at all if I’d have done it starting out, admit it.”

He’s got a point, but Steve can’t let it go. “This had to cost--”

“Well, yeah!” Tony sounds amused, not annoyed. “Would you rather I spend that money on weapons? Tell you what, you try it out with your girl, and I’ll--”

“Tony!” Steve had specifically wanted to avoid thinking about you and his bed in the same mental breath, and Tony Stark had just blown those good intentions all to hell within five minutes of walking into his remodeled bedroom. That thought had come before the objection that you’re not ‘his girl,’ actually, and Steve’s stunned speechless with that realization.

“I saw you called with the room speaker, figured I’d rile up Barnes if he was around,” Tony says, completely undeterred. “Anyway, you’re worth it, end of conversation.”

The phone call cuts out without even an apology from JARVIS.

Steve looks around the room again. Every piece of his new furniture is familiar, not to mention entirely different from the utilitarian set up that had come with the room. He sets the basket down, noting that the blanket you’d covered yourself with that day is neatly folded and laid across the foot of the bed. Oddly, that helps with his qualms; just like the room, he’s been remodeled after a crisis, and things have been added against his better judgment. Even with all the same furniture back, things would remind him of you. The solution isn’t to change everything. It’s to adapt.

Just thinking about you is sending his heartbeat racing, but Steve tries to tamp back the impure thoughts and gets on with the task of putting away his clothes.

The bottom drawer sticks as he pushes it back in. He has to blink a few times to regulate his emotions-- and then, a thought occurs.

Steve’s knock on Bucky’s bedroom door is loud and insistent.

“All right, hold on!”

When the door opens, Bucky’s in a tank top and shorts, and some of his long hair is stuck to his face with sweat. The image hits Steve in a place he hasn’t considered in years, in decades, really, but that’s not why he’s here. He shoves that all away and cranes his neck to see into the room.

“I knew it!” Bucky crows. “You wanted to see if they gave me 40’s stuff too, didn’t you? They did.” He backs up to let Steve in.

It’s the suite’s ‘master’ bedroom, and Steve sees that there’s a pull-up bar installed in the doorway to the private bathroom. Just like in his room, the furniture is achingly familiar, right down to the four poster bed and the color light shining from the lamp. He walks over to peer under the shade.

“I guess they can color them, now, ‘cause the old bulbs are illegal,” Bucky supplies. “You gonna be okay?”

“Tony said I was worth it.”

“You are.”

“Well, so are you,” Steve says, his voice thick. “I’m so sorry she was caught up in--”

Bucky punches his shoulder, derailing his apology, but then tugs him into a brief hug. “As long as I can have the two of you back, do whatever you have to. Now, get out of here, I have fifty more of these things to do.”

Steve nods and heads for the door. As he goes, he sees that there’s a rubber grip on the pull-up bar so Bucky doesn’t have to worry about damaging the thing with his metal hand.

Everything about his life in the tower seems to be tuned to his happiness, made for his comfort, encouraging him to feel safe and needed. The only thing missing from the life he used to picture back before the serum is someone to share it with.

Unbidden, he’s struck with an image of you in that gorgeous skirt looking up at him with obvious happiness and desire in your eyes. He can still hear the lovely, expert tones of your voice singing a song he’d loved hearing on the radio. You’ve challenged him, stood up for him, pleased him-- but most of that hadn’t been your choice, not really. Is there a way through this mess that leads to all of you at peace and happy, Bucky included? Or is that completely unrealistic, a fantasy borne out of his need to make decent a situation that is anything but?

Something deep inside him rebels, at this.

You’re a good person, that much is clear. You could have-- heck, you could have filed charges. You could have refused to have anything to do with him. Instead, you’d looked on him with warmth at the performance, and then participated in Banner’s tests in good faith, right up until you realized that the data would be deceptive. You are worth the stress and temptation that it will take to salvage this.

Steve can’t wait to try.

THE END

Next in the series...

mini note: it occurs to me that I should say, that gap in time between the mutual orgasm from last chapter and the chat at the boardroom involves some time for Steve to clean up, hah 💚

#allcapsbingo2023 #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america smut #captain america x f!reader #steve rogers x f!reader #captain america x you #marvel fanfiction #marvel smut #mcu smut #mcu fanfiction #sex pollen #humor #romance

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eilidh-eternal · 4 months

Note

Anytime I see you posted about Nasty Man Johnny Mactavish my cunny is throbbing no joke :( This character is becoming canon to me. Yesterday I played as Soap and I just remembered your writting and I started to vibrtate I swear! I had turn off the console, open tumblr and read about Nasty Man Johnny Mactavish again.

It’s a hostile takeover and we’re all at his mercy lol

I think Nasty Man™️ Johnny MacTavish would get such an inflated ego knowing that little things that remind you of him affect you so viscerally. After learning that he would purposely get you gifts that will make you think of him. A necklace with a tracker his clan crest for the pendant. A blanket made with his family’s tartan. A jersey from his favorite team. A bracelet with a tracker his birthstone :)

#eilidh's asks #eilidhs soap box #Nasty Man™️ Johnny MacTavish

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clumsiestgiantess · 20 days

Text

Part two of Takeover Scenario Future! @goblinunderabridge, @entomolog-t, and everyone else who enjoyed part one, here it is!

(part one here)

Running to the bathroom door, I tried to turn the handle, but it was locked from the inside. I could hear small pained groans coming from behind it. “Julie! What are you doing to him?!” I yelled from outside. She didn’t answer me. I waited a good half-hour sitting against the bathroom door. They were talking to eachother in there — speaking in whatever strange language the survivors spoke. Finally, the bathroom door opened. I nearly fell backwards inside. “Can you get off the floor, please?” she asked me, voice back to being mildly annoyed and normal. “I need you to tell me what exactly you thought you were doing taking Mason for a joyride on your bike.”

I hadn’t really processed any of what she told me. My mind was drawn to the survivor. He sat on the side of the sink with bloody cotton balls surrounding him. His pant leg had been cut off to make way for a bandage that covered his whole leg. A broken rod of plastic was wrapped up in it, too — preventing it from bending. Zoning back in, I recognized something about what my sister said. “Wait.. Mason? Who’s Mason?” Julie exhaled tiredly, pressing a few fingers to her temples. “Mason is your little friend here. Well, technically his name is Nosam, but I think you’ll do better with the English version.” At the sound of the strange name, Bandit — or not Bandit — looked up at us.

“Now please, what were you doing that made him jump out? Was he trying to get away from you?” Guiltily, I thought back to how he’d struggled against me when I placed him in the bike basket. “Yeah, he tried.. before I got on the bike.. but he was just a bit scared! Once I brought him back and showed him his new home, I thought he would stop!” I stepped over to Mason, leaning down to look at his injury, but he scrambled away wide-eyed. Disappointedly, I backed off. “He’s.. still scared of me,” I realized.

“Well no shit he’s scared of you!” Julie suddenly spat, voice hostile again. “He doesn’t understand what you’re saying, and you’re not trying to comfort him at all!” “But shouldn’t he know I’m not going to hurt him? I’m not a monster!” I countered. “Well, to him, you are. You’re more intelligent than anything else he has to be afraid of — capable of doing so much worse to him than an animal that just wants to eat him and be done with it. Our kind trapped his kind here. All survivors are either angry at us or scared of us at first because of that. And I don’t blame them.”

The room was silent for a while as the thought sunk in. “Sorry, Ritch, I didn’t mean to yell at you. I mean, I did, just not that much.” Julie glanced over at the survivor. He quickly turned away like he hadn’t been watching. “They’re not pets, Ritchie. They’re people. Just like us. You can’t just carry one off and expect them to be calm about it. That’s kidnapping.” “But..” I stammered, “I just wanted to give him a home.” A slight smile appeared on Julie’s face. “I know. But Mason didn’t, and you scared him enough to think that jumping off your bike to get away would be safer than whatever you had in store for him.”

I glanced guiltily at the guy sitting on our sink. “Sorry.” “Eh syas s’eh yrros,” she told the survivor, “Ym rehtorb tsuj detnaw ot evig uoy a ecalp ot yats.” Mason looked up at her, then turned to me. He didn’t seem as scared, just a bit wary. “What’d you say?” “I told him what you told me. That you’re sorry and you were just trying to help.” I nodded, then turned to her suddenly. “Wait, Julie, how do you speak survivor? How do you know all this stuff about them?”

“Oh!” she gasped, “That’s kind of a long story, actually. Let’s head to my room. We don’t want Mom finding them inside.” I nodded, “Remember the one in the attic?” “Mhm. She tried to kill it.” She had, but my sister had stopped her.

Julie gestured for Mason to settle between her hands so she could take him where he needed to go. “Wait, can I carry him?” I asked her hesitantly. “I promise I’ll be gentler. I- I want him to know that I can be more careful.” She spoke to Mason and turned to me. “It’s his decision, not mine.”

The survivor looked at me intently — thinking hard. He said something decisively and Julie nodded. Then, he pointed to me. “Well, he chose you,” she told me with a nudge, “Better make up for that first impression.” With that, she slid out of the bathroom and waited by the doorway to the next room over. Gently, I held out my hands for Mason like I saw my sister do. He tenderly got up, avoiding his injured leg as best as he could.

The feeling was even stranger than picking him up in my fist. His weight caused my hands to dip lower as he sat down in them, glancing up at me with a pensive expression. I lifted him, and his grip tightened on my thumbs, which were almost like armrests to him. “Sorry for scaring you earlier,” I told him remorsefully, “I won’t do any of that again; I promise.” Mason gave me a small reassuring smile, squeezing the pad of my thumb just a bit tighter.

When I made it to the doorway, Julie nodded and told me the coast was clear. I followed her upstairs to our room — taking the long way around the house to avoid getting caught by our mother. Mason gawked at the surrounding rooms and furniture. Briefly, I wondered why. His world apparently had the same types of things that this one did. However, they weren’t nearly as gigantic.

Once we were safe in Julie’s room behind a locked door, she told me I could put Mason down gently on her dresser, which had been cleaned off since she’d returned from college for the summer. The little survivor eased off of me; I helped him get his balance before fully releasing him. He was still slightly wary of me, though. I’d kept my hands close around him so he couldn’t fall over, and he flinched so badly at the sight that he nearly did fall. I swear I’m not grabbing you, man, I thought remorsefully. I’m really sorry I did.

I turned to Julie to ask what to do next, but she’d ducked down beside her bed. “Ellie! You can come out now; it’s safe! There’s.. a few people I’d actually like you to meet.” My mouth dropped open as a survivor slid out from beneath her bed. She froze when she saw me, stepping slowly backwards without taking her eyes off mine. “Ronele, this is-” “Your brother. I know. What is he doing here?”

Holy… That survivor just spoke. In my language. I gawked, stepping forward slightly, “Y- You speak English?” “She does,” Julie replied, “I taught her, just like she taught me her language.” “How?” She shrugged, “How do you learn any other language? Practice and trial-and-error mostly. A lot of gestures, too.” I shook my head. “No, I mean, how did you like.. befriend a survivor?”

Before she could answer, the survivor tapped her leg, backing up until she was safely against it. “Jul, seriously, why is he here?” The new survivor’s voice held a rather strange accent, but even with it I could still hear the hard fear in her voice. Why did my presence suddenly put everyone on edge? I had never hurt one of their kind — never trapped one or locked one in a cage like I’d seen others do. Then again.. it’s kind of what Julie had told me. I was still perfectly capable of doing all of that. And even if I don’t do those kinds of awful things, there are enough people in the world who do for them to be wary of me regardless. Suddenly, my earlier interactions with Mason made a lot more sense.

At the survivor’s fearful question, my sister nodded to the desk where Mason stood. He looked possibly even more shocked than I had. “He finally took someone home.” The survivor crossed her arms, “I told you he would.” Julie sighed, “He did it to help him, though. Isn’t that right?” She gave me a pointed look and I nodded vigorously. With one gesture, the survivor, Ellie or.. whatever name my sister called her earlier, called down a pair of cupped hands and slid into them easily. It was mesmerizing. The little being did it so effortlessly, as if she stepped into people’s hands all the time. Actually, she probably did.

Julie lifted the survivor to wherever she pointed, and let her off on the desk beside Mason. It was then that I realized one of her legs was plastic. Her right leg from just above the kneecap down was missing, and had been replaced with a modified doll’s leg that was similar in color to her skin. The survivor gave me a strong sideways glance — probably because I was unknowingly staring at her — then began to speak with the other survivor in their own language.

“So,” I said uncertainly after a moment, turning to Julie. “How do you two know eachother?” “That’s the long story,” she said, sitting on the side of her bed and patting the other side of it. I sat where she wanted me, and she began.

“It was actually the year before I moved out. I was on a jog when I found Ronele. Well, in English it’s technically Elenor, but I usually use the other one or.. Nevermind. Just call her Elenor. That’ll be easiest for you.” She sighed, “Where was I? Right. When I found her, she was lying on the side of the road. A car had hit her a little while before I arrived, and I thought she’d died.”

The conversation between the survivors abruptly stopped. Elenor turned to us with a pensive expression. “Did you want to tell it?” Julie asked her. She shook her head, but made the same gesture as before. My sister got up and scooped her up kinda like I’d picked up Mason at the park, only gentler — more practiced. When she returned to her bed, Elenor settled in on her lap, making it look like the most comfortable seat in the room. I glanced back at Mason, still on the table. “Do you want to come over, too?” Julie translated for him, and he nodded slightly.

In the same way I brought him upstairs, I brought Mason to the bed — in two carefully-cupped hands. I tried placing him in front of me, but he slid away and sat in his own spot between me and Julie. I was slightly disappointed, but I understood why. Once everyone was settled, the story began again. “Well, obviously Elenor was in really bad shape when I first found her. Thankfully only her leg had been run over, but it was still awful. You know how I worked as an intern at the vet clinic in town?” I nodded. “The practice came in handy. That day I had to-” She paused and glanced down at the little being in her lap, gripping one of my sister’s hands tightly to herself. “Let’s just say.. it wasn’t pretty. Elenor was furious with me for a long time afterward.”

“For saving her life?” I asked, stunned. “Yes,” the survivor quipped, “When you have to be in almost perfect physical form just to survive, losing a limb is a death sentence. I was angry with her because I knew whenever she put me back I was just going to get picked off by something. I would’ve rather got the dying part over with rather than dragging it out.” “But then I got you this,” Julie added, gently tapping her plastic leg. The survivor calmed and nodded. “While she healed, Elenor learned a bit of English to communicate with me. And then while she went through physical therapy of sorts with her new leg, she began teaching me Hsilgne. Her language.”

“And I was right there,” I glanced at the door, “on the other side of the hall. I never knew.” “We didn’t want you to,” Elenor told me curtly. “We didn’t want anyone to find out,” Julie amended. “By the time Elenor had a working leg, we’d become such close friends that we knew she wasn’t leaving. She’s stayed with me since. She came with me to college, and lives with me in my apartment. I’ve been helping survivors ever since the year I met her, though. They’ve started coming to me on their own now that I have my own place.”

My sister is a doctor for survivors. How do I not know this?! “Can you show me how to keep one?” I asked her, “If you’ve been doing it for years, you can help me start collecting them, too!” Elenor said something angry-sounding in her language and Julie cringed. “I.. don’t think that’s a good idea. I told you, they’re not pets, you don’t keep one. You offer to let them live with you, like a roommate, and if they say yes, then you can start thinking about helping them.

“And that’s a big if!” Elenor chimed in, “Most of my kind — if they had any sense whatsoever — would say ‘no’ in a heartbeat.” I glanced at Mason. Before I could say anything, Elenor asked him something harshly. He looked confused — almost scared — of being confronted so suddenly. His gaze flickered around between all of us, then landed intently on me; I tried to look as harmless as I could. Finally, he spoke. Elenor looked a bit miffed at his reply, and my sister nodded. “He says that if you were able to understand him, and you two could talk to eachother like me and Elenor do, he actually wouldn’t mind staying here.”

Mason spoke a bit more, “I yllaer t’nod kniht ruoy rehtorb si a dab tnaig. Eh- Eh did pleh em elpitlum semit dna I sseug eh dah doog snoitnetni neve nehw eh debbarg em. Fi eh dluoc tsuj.. dnatsrednu, d’I eb yppah ot evil ereh. Ohw t’ndluow? S’ti a citnagig efas ecalp taht sah yllacisab detimilnu doof, dna si deretlehs morf eht rehtaew, htiw a etammoor ohw nac teg uoy tuo fo yna elbuort uoy thgim teg otni. D’I ekil ot yats fi m’I emoclew, tub fi uoy dluoc tsuj hcaet mih hguone rof mih ot dnatsrednu, I nac hcaet mih eht tser.”

My sister nodded, “I nac hcaet mih. Fi uoy yllaer tnaw ot yats, tsuj wonk uoy dluohs diova ruo rehtom. Fi uoy thguoht s’Ritchie gniwonknu edutitta sdrawot uoy saw dab, neht uoy od ton tnaw ym rehtom gnidnif uoy. Ehs si ekil emos fo eht lufwa sromur.” Mason nodded dutifully. I suddenly felt so out-of place. Everyone in the room could understand this new language — knew what the conversation was about — even if Elenor didn’t seem to approve of it. Only I had no clue what was being said. Out of everything, I vaguely recognized my name, but that was all.

“Wait, Mason, you want to stay with me?” I asked surprisedly, a smile growing on my face. He nodded, trying to stand back up, but between the uneven surface of the bed and his injured leg, he only got halfway before whispering something that sounded like a curse under his breath and sat back down. “If you’re up for learning a new language over the summer, I’m sure you two will get along surprisingly well,” my sister said, “He thinks a lot like you.” She gestured to Mason. “Really?” I asked, looking down at him. The survivor tilted his head to look up at me slightly.

“But just remember,” my sister told me, “They are not pets. They’re people. You treat that kid nicely, or so help me I will take him far away from you, understand?” I nodded fervently, “Yeah! I understand!” Julie looked me over skeptically and Elenor asked: “Do you?”

I turned to look down at the survivor I’d found earlier. Originally, I didn’t understand. I’d looked at him and saw a little mimic creature from another world — an oddity that only looked like a person, but wasn’t actually anything like one. I mean, they’re barely a foot long, they scavenge around like little animals, and they live in colonies out in the woods. It seemed obvious they weren’t people. That was until I was reminded why they had to scavenge whatever we left behind, and hide away in places where humans weren’t around. They are people — small people who couldn’t fight us for a place to live and had to go into hiding after losing the quick war we waged against them.

“I understand,” I said more firmly, reaching slowly for Mason. He tensed, but held still as I lifted him up. Keeping pressure off his leg, I helped him stand and walk across the sheets until he was beside me, leaning on my crossed legs to keep himself upright. He looked up at me not only with a smile, but with a genuine understanding expression. It was the first time he’d looked at me that way — with trust. That look right there solidified it; there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that they’re people. And I was going to make sure this one actually lived up to the name ‘survivor’.

Second part done! Do y’all want part three to be a continuation, or a prequel? (Either a continuation of Ritchie and Mason, or a backstory of Julie and Elenor’s first meeting)

#let me know what you want part three to be!#If there’s a significant amount of votes for one of the two options I’ll do that one first!#g/t #giant/tiny

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wambsgansshoelaces · 4 months

Text

Waiting For You

Chapter 2; Beginnings

Siobhan Roy x fem!Reader

a/n: read the rest! I love shiv

Word Count: 3.349k

Shiv doesn’t come down to breakfast the next morning. You sit by yourself at a table, quietly eating a plateful of some of the best food you’d ever had. Silently, Kendall joins you, his chair making a muffled noise as it scrapes against the carpet.

Neither of you say anything for a while. This is normal for the two of you, though. Even though he was older than you and Shiv, you’d both always done the talking for him. You have extensive memories of pitching Logan on what to get for Kendall’s birthday, you and Shiv pretending like Ken hadn’t had told you what he wanted minutes before. You like to think he’d taught you how to appreciate silent company.

The dark bags under his eyes are deeper than usual, and he’s gripping a cup of coffee.

“Trying to strangle it?” you ask, taking a sip from your own mug.

“Pretending like it’s Dad,” he mutters back. “I don’t get why he can’t just leave me alone.”

You sigh. “I wish I could give you insight on that.” You poke at your food now, searching for something to say. “It’s always about the money, Ken. I’m sorry.”

He finishes with his food, but doesn’t get up. He leans back in his chair, staring into his hands. “You know…” He takes a centering breath. “I think we should hit him. Here. Tomorrow.”

You chew slowly. “We? What are we doing?”

“I want us to squash him before he has the chance to fuck me over.”

“How?” you ask carefully.

“Hostile. We’ll go straight for the shareholders first, and if that doesn’t work, I’m pretty sure we can convince the board to hand the company to us.” You meet his gaze. “And I want you and Shiv managing. You’ll both get seats on the board. I like you, Y/N, your head is screwed on right. And I trust you.”

You take another sip of coffee. “It’s an amazing offer. You think Shiv will like it?” you ask.

“If you can’t convince Shiv, let me talk to her. But there’s no reason she won’t listen to you. Besides, we’re talking about you right now. What do you think?”

You set your cup down on the table. “I think it’ll work,” you tell him truthfully. “And I know you’re a good person, Kendall. So just tell me what you need me to do.”

He gets to his feet, reaches over, and gives your arm a squeeze. “You’re a saint.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Shiv finds you when you’re taking a stroll through the gardens. She hurries to your side, falling into step next to you.

“You’re up early,” you say drolly, glancing at the time on your phone. Noon.

“Hungover,” she says airily. “I woke up with the worst headache. Then I saw you from the window.”

You wonder idly why she joined you. “Feeling better, then?”

“No, I just wanted to walk with you.”

The weather is gorgeous, the sun warming your skin and brightly illuminating everything around you. The two of you stop in a patch of shade, a bench conveniently placed, protected from the sun.

“Did you tell Kendall?” she asks, sitting down next to you.

“Yeah, last night.” Your arms brush together. “He came to talk to me this morning, too.”

“Well?” She holds eye contact, the blue of her eyes unflinching.

“Well,” you repeat, taking a moment to get your thoughts together. “He wants to avoid it, obviously. Put a stop to the secret stock buying bullshit. He’s looking at just going hostile and booting Logan from Waystar.”

“Depending on the shareholders, it could work,” Shiv murmurs back, turning the idea over in her head.

“That’s what I told him. And I feel like he has enough power to fight management even if it fails.” You fall silent.

“What’re you not telling me?”

You hastily look away, before meeting her gaze again. “He wants to instate you and me into management. If a hostile takeover doesn’t work, and he goes to fight… us backing him gives him the win. I think it’s a win-win.”

The beginning of a frown is forming on her face. “What, and we just leave my dad?”

“Well, yeah. We’d be making more money and working for a better man. I don’t see why we shouldn’t.”

She’s truly frowning now, her pretty features wrinkling. “Don’t you think this is stupid?”

“The opposite.” You search her gaze. You don’t know what you’re looking for. “Shiv, we go through with this, we come out with bigger careers and making so much more fucking money. And you’ve been looking for a reason to cut clean from your father… Don’t you think this is it?”

She rests her head up in her hands, elbows resting on her knees. “Everything you’re saying makes sense. But I just… I have a bad feeling.”

“About what, Shiv? The logic is there. I feel like there’s nothing your dad can do after Waystar gets absorbed by Kendall. And you’ll be protected there. From Maria.”

She pushed herself back into an upright position, her thumb twisting a ring around her index finger. “What’s his plan?”

“He wants to serve Logan as soon as possible. While we’re here, so he can’t do anything crazy about it. And then they clash.”

“Does he need a definitive answer?”

“You can probably get away with not saying anything until after we’re back in the States. That’s when he’ll probably need a final list for the board and management.”

“I can get away with it? What about you?” Her brow furrows.

“I told him I was in. This sort of opportunity isn’t going to come again. I make more money, the stress in my life dissipates, I’m working for Kendall… I really don’t see any cons. I trust him, Shiv. Besides, I want you to be the best you can be. Climb the highest with your career. And I think you can do that on Ken’s side, not Logan’s.”

“Why’d you say yes without telling me?”

You pause. “I didn’t think I had to.”

She catches herself. “I mean, you don’t. It just would’ve been nice if we hashed it out together.”

“Honestly, Shiv, I didn’t think you’d be so opposed to it. This is huge. We can kill any influence your dad has, and Maria will fuck off with him. And, come on, Shiv, you’d probably only have to work a day in the week because of how much you’ll be fucking paid.”

“Since you’re doing it, I’m doing it too,” she says decidedly. “It’s… I don’t know, Y/N. I just have one of those feelings, you know?”

You, against your common sense, gently take her hand in yours. “I get it. And if something does go wrong, we’ll be fully equipped to handle it. You have nothing to worry about.”

Shiv gives your hand a grateful squeeze. “Where’s Ken, do you know? I have some ideas.”

You snort. “Like what? Illegally acquire a gun to shoot your father with?”

“That was my best idea when we were twelve,” she reminds you. “What I want to do is cause him some fucking problems.”

“So he’s otherwise occupied even back in the States.”

“My partner in crime. We’re on the same wavelength.” She tugs you to your feet, your hands still clasped together. “And I just want him to suffer.”

“Psychopath,” you mutter.

“You love me anyway,” she retorts. You can’t argue with that.

“What’re you thinking of?”

“I swear this isn’t just because I think she’s a bitch, but I’m almost a hundred percent sure Maria is drawing deals with the devil. So, we get dirt on her, make her look bad and Dad look worse.”

You continue your stroll together, deciding to turn the conversation elsewhere.

“What’s the schedule for the next few days?” you ask.

“Rehearsal dinner is tomorrow. Wedding the day after that,” she says. “The days after are all sightseeing tours. If I have to watch my father make bedroom eyes one more time I’ll kill myself. I don’t wanna fucking sit through this shit show.”

“What, watching your dad get married to his fourth wife or watching your dad attempt to commit murder on his son?”

“Both.” She plucks a white lily from a bush you pass by, twirling the stem between her fingers as you continue to walk. “Kendall should do it right before Dad walks down the aisle.”

“Jeez, Shiv. Brutal.”

“He deserves it.”

You have no argument for that. She plucks the bottom half of the stem off, shortening it, then stopping you form moving forward. She tucks the stem behind your ear, arranging your hair around it so it stays.

“Pretty,” is all she says before you start walking again.

“Lunch is soon,” you murmur, trying to distract from the butterflies fluttering about your stomach.

“Isn’t it on the ocean?”

“Something like that.”

“We should match. Wear those cute floral dresses we bought together before we came.”

You both get ready in her room, her flitting about, pulling her outfit together. You both had the same floral pattern printed onto the fabric of your dresses, but the style and color were completely different between you two. The cerulean blue offset her skin pleasingly, the cut accentuating her hips. You keep catching yourself staring. Her bare feet patter lightly on the tile as she hunts for a pair of heels.

“We haven’t even been here for a week. How’d you lose them?”

“I didn’t lose them,” she insists, clipping an earring into place. She disappears in the bathroom to inspect her makeup and hair, and you go to peek under her bed.

“Found them,” you call to her.

“Fuck you!” comes her response.

You hand them to her when she comes back, and she makes a face at you. “It’s not like I hid them,” you say adamantly. She toes the shoes on, reaching out to straighten out the fabric bunching over your hips. Her palms smooth over the divots of your waist, her eyes raking over you, inspecting. Her gaze snags on the lily. You’d thought it was cute, so you’d kept it in your hair. You forget how to breathe. Shiv doesn’t notice, instead picking up her purse and beckoning you out the door with her.

Still a bit dazed, you follow her out and into the back of a black SUV. She sets her sunglasses atop her head, pushing back her hair with them. She glances at you and gives you a tight lipped smile.

“What’s up your ass?” you ask, making a face.

“Nothing. Nothing.” She suppresses the smile, turning to look out the window as you begin to move.

“You’re thinking about something,” you point out. “I know you, Shiv.”

She doesn’t turn back. “Nothing important,” she insists flippantly.

“Whatever you say.” You turn the opposite direction, watching as the world passes by.

“It’s just,” she begins, “I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

“That conversation we had last night. While I was busy regurgitating the contents of my stomach.”

“What about it?”

“I don’t know how to do anything I promised. So don’t expect anything.”

You roll your eyes. “Shiv.”

“I’m being serious! Any sort of affection is difficult for me to show back.”

“Affection?”

“Yeah, you’re so lovey. Attentive. I wanna be like that, too. It feels nice when you do it, so why don’t I return the favor?”

You feel your body flush with heat. “I think that’s just how I am,” you say, lying through your teeth. “There are no favors for you to return.”

She tsks. “I’m doing it anyway. I mean, I’ll try to. It’ll probably be shitty execution, like a latte for you every blue moon. But you’re a good person, Y/N. I want you to know that I’m trying, even though I’m fucking failing spectacularly.”

You can’t, for the life of you, discern the nature of this conversation. A part of you, the stupid, hopeful part of you, wants to believe she’s flirting. But what would you know?

When she opens the car door, she reaches behind her to take your hand. You’re assaulted by the bright flashes of the paparazzi cameras. Your sunglasses sit on the bridge of your nose, but they only do so much. Shiv, experienced, drags you through the crowd, head up, pace unwavering.

You get past the security barricade, and walk along a pier to get to a massive patio built on the planks over the water.

“This is nice,” you tell her.

“What did you expect? The more spoiled people are, the less they care to ask questions.”

“Doesn’t stop them from asking, though.”

The lunch itself is lush. Shiv’s wandered off, mingling with a group of executives, and you and Roman watch Maria make her rounds.

“God, she makes me want to vomit,” he says to you.

“You say that about everyone,” you remind him.

“Fuck you.” He opens his mouth to say more, then promptly shuts it, Maria turning to you both. “Mrs. Roy,” he says dramatically.

“Roman, Y/N. Pleasure to see you both,” she drawls. “Enjoying the festivities?”

“Yeah. Sun, sand, salt water. It’s great,” Roman says back, his arms crossed over his torso. “It’s great, really.”

Maria ignores him, instead asking, “Do you mind if I steal your friend?” He throws you a glance before leaving you with her. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you on our own.”

“Have you, now,” you reply, distracted, noticing Shiv’s eyes flickering your direction from across the room. She takes a strained sip from whatever it is she’s drinking, her conversation halted.

She takes your arm, leading you off the patio.

“You know I run my own press company.”

“What happened to not talking about work?” you ask lightly. You both walk slowly, the pier creaking under your feet.

“Sometimes,” she manages back, “things need to get done.”

“So.” The breeze tickles your skin. “What needs to get done?”

Maria stares off into the ocean. “Plenty of things.”

“I’m assuming at least one of those things involve me. Otherwise, I don’t think we’d be having this conversation.”

“You’re smart. Which is why I’ve come to you, specifically.”

“I don’t enjoy running erratically around the point,” you say lowly.

She sighs. “I would like you to consider your current position. You’re awfully close to Siobhan, given your positions at Waystar. And Roman, Kendall, Connor.” She smooths her hand over her dress. “And I figure it’s time we sever ties to those we find not helpful. Siobhan, Kendall, threats to the throne. Roman, Connor, media liabilities.” Maria glances at you. “Understand my meaning?”

“I do. But I’m lost as to how this has anything to do with me.”

“You’re in a perfect place to be… extracting information.”

You have to keep yourself from rolling your eyes. That’s what this was about- she wants an outlet for dirt to make herself higher in the line of succession.

“What are you implying?” you ask bluntly. “Because I feel like you’re implying I pry into my coworkers’ personal and professional lives and snoop.”

“Oh, I’m not implying anything. I’m just telling you, Y/N, that Logan and I have big plans for after we wed. And it’d be a shame if your potential went to waste while you go down with the rest of them.”

You frown. “Maria, what is the point of this conversation? You’re running in circles.”

“Y/N, we need someone with your skill set if we are to sever Siobhan and Kendall from Waystar. Someone competent, at that, that we can trust. And you’re all the above. If you see this through… lots of good things will come.”

“How is there any severing going on? What is ‘this’?” you ask, trying to dig. Not only are you trying to illicit information from her, you’re genuinely confused. She must’ve been watching too many crime syndicate movies.

“Just think about what I said. Enjoy yourself. We’ll talk again later.” You’re left confused, and slightly pissed off. After Maria steps away, and you’re back on the patio, Shiv’s at your side.

“What was that about?”

“You’re right to be suspicious about her. She’s… thought a lot about the succession.”

“Come on, let’s go sit in the sand or something. We should talk.” You both make your way to the beach, heels clutched in your hands. A hermit crab scuttles past you as you lower yourself into a sitting position.

“She basically just wants me to flip. Something about wasting my potential and the fact that you and your siblings are all threats and liabilities.” You stick your feet into the sand in front of you, the warmth seeping into your skin.

“That’s not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about us.” The wind picks up, blowing her hair back, exposing her jaw. “All of that stuff I said about being a better friend? Forget it. It's all bullshit.”

You blink, taken aback. “Oh.”

Shiv takes her sunglasses off, dropping them into the sand next to her. To your surprise, her eyes are watering, and she’s biting her lip.

“No, not like that. Not like that at all,” she continues, voice steady. “God, you’re fucking gorgeous, even when you’re fucking confused.” Your heart skips a beat. Hope blooms in your chest, a beautiful, ravaging feeling. “What I was trying to say last night, and earlier, in the car, was not that I want to be a better friend, but I want to be a lover. Your lover. I want to be with you,” she says bluntly.

You reach out towards her, stamping away her tears with your thumb before they fall. “Really?” you ask meekly. “Or is this some sort of sick prank?”

“No, never. You’re the fucking light of my life. I don’t get any of these feelings, Y/N, but I’ve had them for so long and I can’t keep ignoring them. I want you. That’s all I understand. That I need you so badly that I’d ruin my life for you, I’d fucking steal the stars from the sky if you asked.”

“I need you, too,” you murmur, barely a whisper.

Before you can even begin to articulate your next words, Shiv’s hands are gripping your jaw and yanking you towards her. Her lips crash against yours.

It’s a sloppy kiss. You’re both so needy, so hungry for each other neither of you know what to do. Her lips are just as plush, just as firm as you’d imagined. Her fingers dig into your skin, and she kisses you harder and harder. You manage to pull away, moving to press hot kisses down her neck and across her collarbone. An airy sigh leaves her lips, her fingers sliding up your jaw to tangle in your hair.

“Fuck,” she breathes. She sounds beautiful. She looks beautiful. “I’ve imagined this hundreds of thousands of times in my mind. It never amounted to the real thing. God, I fucking need you. All that fucking rambling earlier? I was just trying to ignore the fact that every time I look at you I can't fucking breathe."

She whines when your mouth leaves her neck. “We can’t get caught,” you say softly.

“I don’t give a shit who sees us,” she insists. “Besides, we’re so far from the pier, it doesn’t matter.” She pushes herself into her lap so she can tip your head back and kiss you again. She parts your lips with hers, greedy. She pulls away, hands cupping your face, and lets you press a kiss to her jaw.

“Slow down,” you murmur. “You’ve barely just confessed.” Your hands go to the swells of her hips, fitting perfectly, as if they were meant to be there. They slide along her waist, then back, before you give her a squeeze.

“I’ve been waiting so long,” she tells you, planting another messy kiss on your lips. “And so have you, by the way you’re feeling me up.”

“You love it, Shiv, don’t lie to yourself,” you tease, getting a smile to split her face.

"You're right, baby. I fucking love it."

#shiv roy x reader #I’d love to hear your thoughts #shiv roy x you #feel free to leave constructive criticism #siobhan roy x reader #siobhan roy x you #siobhan roy #shiv roy #shiv roy x fem!reader #wlw #succession #succession hbo #succession fic #wambsgansshoelaces #succession x reader #waiting for you

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whispersinthedawn · 1 year

Text

Lie to me

Where Poseidon's plans to get Percy to accept immortality succeed in the worst of ways. (Currently still WIP)

***

“Do you think this wedding will go through?” Poseidon asked portentously, eyes fixed on Percy and Apollo in the garden below.

Amphitrite couldn’t help it. She laughed. "Why? Do you oppose this marriage now?”

“I’ve always opposed it,” he snapped.

Amphitrite stared at him, a terrible realisation sinking in. “You were their chief support,” she said. Poseidon had threatened Hera and Aphrodite for them.

“I didn’t think it would get this far,” Poseidon uttered in defeat. “It was a trick. A trick meant to be revealed before devastation could sweep across our lives.”

“You wanted her to accept immortality,” Amphitrite spoke, cold.

“There were too many mortals she loved but not nearly enough immortals,” Poseidon tried to justify. “If the love of a parent and a friend was not enough, romantic was the only option left. And say what you will about him, but my nephew has always been good at making people love him.”

Amphitrite swallowed, the desire to support her husband warring with the nebulous affection that had crept in for her step-daughter. Immortality wasn’t a curse provided you had your family with you, which Percy Jackson would. Nothing in Poseidon’s plans meant tragedy for her.

She couldn’t stop herself from categorizing this plot as a betrayal.

“He was supposed to stop once she turned immortal?” Amphitrite clarified.

Poseidon ran a hand through his hair. “He said it would be too much if he were to abandon her the moment she ascended, that she depended on him too much. That it might not be love, but she was still a friend.”

A spear of water flung itself at the wall and drilled a hole into the antechamber.

“I believed him,” Poseidon cursed. “Except he’s violating her trust and her life right now!”

“Maybe he’s really in love,” Amphitrite tried to suggest, searching for any possible explanation that didn’t involve shattering Percy into pieces.

The despair on Poseidon’s face dashed her hopes.

“Haven’t you seen the way the younger gods regard this marriage?” he whispered. “They saw my brother nearly sacrifice one of their own as if he were nothing but a mortal. They watched him constantly make the wrong decisions during both the great wars and try to avoid any responsibility by shoving blame on others.”

Poseidon shook his head. “This isn’t a marriage but a hostage situation.”

“You’re taking about a coup,” Amphitrite whispered in horror.

“A hostile takeover with the force of the sea and the underworld at their back,” Poseidon sighed in exhaustion. “And my daughter – she’s the hero of Camp Half-Blood. She is a Praetor of Camp Jupiter and friends with the current ones. She’s Titan Killer, Giant Killer, and Survivor of Tartarus. How much more would it take to add God killer to her resume?”

Unable to help herself, Amphitrite rushed to the window again, watching the silent image of Apollo peppering Percy’s upturned face with kisses.

“You’re not afraid he’ll betray her,” Amphitrite understood. “You’re afraid he’ll be the best husband anyone can ever desire. The most loving, the most devoted, the most loyal. And in return …”

“I’ll support him against my brother,” Poseidon intoned.

A daughter’s happiness against a brother’s throne.

A demigod’s immortality versus a god’s mortality.

Amphitrite hesitated to even ask what decision Poseidon would arrive at.

Below them, Percy laughed happily, safely ensconced in the arms of the god she loved.

***

And in the end, they're all liars. I wanted to write a fic where Poseidon tries to have Percy accept immortality, only to regret it in the end. Because the god he was trying to use used him instead.

Inspired by this wonderful work by anxious_tofu.

#pjo #perpollo #percy x apollo #fanfiction #apollo x percy #percy jackson #apollo #poseidon #amphitrite #sea fam #fem percy #lie to me

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therulerofallpotatos · 6 months

Text

Fic Tag Game

Tagged by: @wincestation, @realisticintentions, @realmermaid333, @cosmic-lullaby, @suchaladyy, @beri-allen

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

149

2. What's your Ao3 word count?

361,707 words.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Wednesday currently. Teen Wolf for six years. Harry Potter, Hannibal, Thorki, Starker, Twilight (Bella/Carlisle and Bella/Aro), The Umbrella Academy (not that i got very far before getting obsessed with wyler), and Madrigalcest (Primarily Brumira)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Overall?

Fuck It (Steter, Teen Wolf, 3,396)

When it Needs Fixing (Steter, Teen Wolf, 3,339)

Hostile Takeover (Steter, Teen Wolf, 2,781)

Absolution (Steter, Teen Wolf, 2,691)

Wandering in the Dark (Steter, Teen Wolf, 2,250)

In Wednesday?

Her Monster (Wyler, 708)

Hold Me Close (Wyler, 593)

Revelations (Wyler, 499)

Warning, She Bites (Wyler, 464)

Impressing Wednesday Addams (Wyler, 387)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Sometimes. I reply when I have something meaningful to add. Otherwise it'd get very repetitive and generic and that kind of soulless connection isn't really the point of this kind of thing. I adore my comments nonetheless and I read them a lot.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hold on. I gotta skim my list.

update: i do not remember some of these fics or what happened in them

Maybe Modi the Brave (MCU, Thorki). This was an angsty fanfic of a fanfic. There was a happy ending in the original fic, The Rescue by madwriter223

I'm not counting Absolution because it was immediately followed by a sequel. But technically, it did get me the most angry sobbing comments which i treasure to this day.

The Final Straw was angsty but it was also dumb and half-cocked and the closest thing to an embarrassment on this account. It was literally just a half-thought half-scene of my 18yo self's emotional state in 2018 that is very evident that I wrote this angrily in study hall. I wrote a lot of fic in that high school during classes. Like a lot. It was my school computer. I got plenty of use out of it. There was no structure or coherent plot. I didn't even hint at anything deeper to be explored in your own minds. I didn't want to look at it long enough or think about it long enough. I just wanted it out of my head. If I didn't have a strict no deleting my works policy, or hiding from my past art policy, I would probably have deleted it within the week of posting. I do not understand how it has the kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks that it has. I guess it resonated. Good for y'all. I mean it.

Literally just the entirety of Tyler's Bad Year is meant to be about a very traumatic time in a young man's life and him surviving it. I'm not going to go through them and try to pick out "the worst" one. That's not really the point and it'd be largely subjective.

I'll Eat You Raw has an angsty ending but angstiest? I'm not sure.

I don't write a lot of bad endings. Open endings? sure. Complicated endings? Absolutely. But unhappy endings? No. I don't often have the desire.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Jesus fuck we want to be here all day? Ok lemme look through shit again.

Wandering in the Dark has a whole story behind it. There was actually two versions. Only one was posted to ao3 and is the "canon" version. I wrote this fic for a high school assignment my senior year. We were assigned to pick a chronic disease out of a literal hat, then write a story around it. We had complete creative control so I took that chance to write teen wolf steter fanfic in class and actually have it be on task for once (I got an A in that class btw). The reason my teacher got a dark ending version is because by the time he got back to me on the maximum word count, I'd already finished the canon version and it was way too long. I couldn't trim the fat, so I wrote a different ending to shorten the story. That version is one of the angstier stories I've written. The one posted and linked above, is the very happy by comparison. This fic is also designed to be read by someone who doesn't know shit about teen wolf.

Through Thick and Thin was also extremely happy. As is Her Monster. Benevolent Gods was meant to be very hopeful. The Hale Pack (Undying) was the end to a series that was my baby for a long time . Like long enough you can see my writing evolve as you go. Part one was one of the first things i ever wrote. Like ever. The last part was years later. Jasper was meant to be a very light-hearted, happy story as well. It's extremely sweet and fluffy. You was also very happy and the epilogue cemented that happiness. Warning: She Bites literally had a happy end that unknowingly prevented a main character committing suicide in the near future. Saving lives by being horny. Wednesday Evening, and every installment in that series, is excessively happy as well.

Alright I ran through my list of fics. These were the ones that stood out. There's too many to really commit to one answer tbh. Especially because the way they're happy varies.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not really. Or. Well. I'm sure I do. I block antis on sight and I wholly reject purity culture, and I haven't really been the target of a major attack or anything. I don't get as many hateful comments as one might think, and I don't entertain the ones I do get. I've been accused of vile shit of course because of a fic I wrote. I don't remember what fic or even what ship it was for because I don't dwell on them really at all. Aside from that, I get more entitled but probably ignorant to how they come off as entitled comments that aren't really that big a deal. Just a bit of a peeve sometimes. I honestly think the majority of them truly believe it's a kind gesture when they say it.

9. Do you write smut? What kind?

Yeah. You could say that.

What kind? In a word? Intense. I could make a joke or a long elaboration on my niche in hyde sex and whatnot, but at the end of the day, intense. Even my most laid back, domestic, slice of life fics have a sense of intensity to them because otherwise I get bored and it feels soulless and it's just not my writing style.

10. Do you write cross-overs?

When I feel like it. When I have an idea.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I have a steter fic on a russian fic website that was translated years ago. I have no idea which it was or if it's still there. Wait! I might remember. Yeah no. I don't remember. It wasn't the one I thought of.

12. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

No. I've started to outline one before but it went nowhere and we both forgot about it.

13. What WIP you would like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Harry Potter and the Night that Changed Everything.

I had a whole novel basically planned for it. Writing Bellatrix and a Harry who was raised by Bellatrix took a lot out of me emotionally, and I lost steam.

Also, a Bella Swan/Marcus Vulturi fic that i also had a novel length plot planned out, wrote three chapters for, and then lost steam when I left the fandom due to getting the life sucked out of me by a bunch of toxic people in the fandom killing my joy. Those chapters are just collecting dust in my files right now. I'd like to go back to it one day and finish it in some form or another. Maybe it's original enough I could actually just write an original novel out of the scraps I already have. Actually, to be honest, it is probably original enough that I could write it as an original story. There is not a lot of Twilight there that is necessary to the story and can easily be written out. Something to think about maybe. Ironically not the first prompt I thought up initially for Twilight that I then realized nothing about Twilight was necessary for the idea I had, and I just wrote it without Bella entirely. This is how my original zombie novel started and then immediately evolved into an entirely different thing that has nothing to do w Twilight. Like literally nothing. I had to work to put the Twilight into that one. Not the other way around.

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

wyler (steter and tomarry honorary).

15. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and characterization

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

pacing. movement heavy scenes. Longer projects if only because I have less practice at them.

17. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Yeah. If it fits, I'll write it. I won't pretend to be fluent, but I'll do my best. Probably won't do anything too complicated for the sake of realism of my abilities. Especially if it's not Spanish which I at least have spent time trying to learn.

18. First fandom you wrote for?

Teen Wolf

19. Favourite fic you've ever written?

Listen...

We've established how well I am at picking one end all number one.

Fuck ok. back to the list.

Water of the Womb was one I was planning to write for almost a year and it turned out pretty good I think. Actually no.

No. It's not a fic that's been posted yet.

I think the favorite fic I've ever written is I Bit Him So He's Mine. it's my "Wednesday is a Hyde season one rewrite au". It's my first novel that is more than just a future novel. It's hit 40k and I have to start Act 2 still. It's my first proper murder mystery where the mystery is the primary plot equal to the romance. I've had a lot of fun with it, I've put my heart and soul into it, and I really look forward to calling it ready to post. Once it's done, you guys are getting regular updates for a long time.

20. What fic would you want to rewrite one day?

Out of the Fire haunts me. It was a lesson to learn. I had the desire to write a steter/hannigram crossover and zero plan of any kind outside that. It crashed and burned because I only had a first chapter in me. I recently met a local and successful author who recognized my ao3 username because of this fic and remembered me years later enough to compliment my writing (I cannot express how much that meant to me). Wait no that might have been Mark of an Angel which also haunts me, but I didn't have zero plan. I had almost no plan, and lost steam when I hit a creative block at a bad time. Normally, I'd have just sat down and workshopped a starter outline and wrote myself out of that block, but I lost steam so I never did. Different deal. Not as impactful in my creative journey. Out of the Fire, however, was very important to me because of why it failed, and remains very influential with every new project I start. Actually rewriting/finishing that project would be a defining moment for me as a writer, I think. At least to me personally.

Tagging: @duplicitywrites, @dispatchvampire, @dark-visitors, @fiktorsempra, @graciebirdie, @gardenoblues, @grim-reaper-barbie13, @gabelish, @killingdoll, @lavender-lotion, @lovepoison9, @wednesdayandherhyde, @udunie, @itshype, @insomniac1994, @onlyangelxo, @obsidianpen, @ourdramaqueen, @persephoneed, @pororoh, @badmoodbatflowers, @brascu

#wednesday netflix #wednesday addams #wyler #my writing #tomarry #wednesday fanfic #teen wolf #steter #hannigram #thorki #harrymort #not all of my teen wolf fics were steter but most were #i am also v proud of my stallison fic #sometimes i just write one fic for a ship i had an idea about but only really had the one passion project for #this also included jasper/bella #and was going to include marcus/bella #i had a Caius/Bella idea as well that I never had the chance to start

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snugglesquiggle · 24 days

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Do you like juzi or vuzi more

i'm gonna ramble hella hard about this, sorry, but that's the bargain you strike when you shoot an ask my way

but there's a fun story to my answer. you see, V/Uzi was actually my first interest, and in fact when i started kicking around the idea of writing Murder Drones fanfics, the first idea i seriously tried to work out was a V/Uzi fic

(for the curious, general shape of the idea was that Uzi encounters V first, railgun wipes her memory, fails to befriend her like she did with N and has to run away. Uzi then sneaks out again and again, exploiting the railgun-induced amnesia and errors to try and get through to V, leading to a kind of mutual rivalry as V tries to figure out why she keeps having gaps in her memory.

pretty sure it was going to escalate to Uzi hacking into V and potentially going dubious places. the working title for that fic was "Somnabulation". which means sleep-walking, so it would have been kind of ironic for Somnabulation to be the mind control fic and Hostile Takeover the one that spends half its wordcount in memory simulations)

but i'm rambling.

i never ultimately figured out how to make the V/Uzi fic come together into something i liked. and i didn't have that much motivation to do so, as there are good V/Uzi fics out there, like This World Couldn't See Us or Hold On Tight To This Time, This Place

but, as you'll quickly discover if you search the tag now, J/Uzi fics are a lot less numerous. i did like some of what i saw there, so i didn't have a full on "if i don't do this, nobody will" kind of motivation driving me

but then one day, out of the blue, a single thought occurred to me, an observation, comparison, an answer to the question of "what could a relationship between these two possibly be based on?"

and then the whole fic just crystallized around that thought.

(what was thought? i'll leave that as an exercise for the reader, or perhaps i'll save it for a minor reveal later on in Hostile Takeover. it's not very profound, but when it occurred to me i did have the distinct feeling that i'm not sure anyone had thought of the connection i just made.)

and i want to emphasize, when i say it crystallized, i mean it seriously came together, all at once. on October 31 last year, i jotted down the outline, initially as something to post in a discord brainstorming channel, but then i spent all evening writing more and more, and came out the other end with ten thousand words of notes and scene sketches

but anyway, all of that yapping is a long way to say

at the start i preferred V/Uzi (V was my favorite character, and J barely registered as anything but a joke to me), and i began writing Hostile Takeover essentially as a writing challenge or puzzle to prove something, or even just as a practice run for the fic i really wanted to write.

but i think my phrasing here gives the game away, doesn't it? i think very few people would write nearly 160k words in four months out of mere intellectual curiosity

so to finally, finally answer your question, my favorite is J/Uzi and by a long shot. the relationship absolutely grew on me as i wrote it. i'd genuinely go as far as to say my hot take is that it's actually easier to have J/Uzi make sense than V/Uzi, if you're being truly faithful to both characters. is this because J has less character to be faithful toward? shut up.

i think the biggest factor here is that in the course of writing HT, V stopped being my favorite character. i still find her a lot of fun when i'm reading her in other fics, but writing her has just brought a lot of her flaws to the forefront, and it's hard not to be increasingly frustrated with her character. (is this self-inflicted on my part for writing a plot where V causing problems is the central driver? maybe)

but yeah, i've found myself so much less interested in V/Uzi as time goes on. one of my mutuals has describe vuzi as something to the effect of the blander, safer alternative to juzi, and don't look at me i'm just misquoting him.

#hostile takeover #i'd tag the ships i'm talking about but i dont want vuzi fans out for my blood #love yall #my answers #my squiggles

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waytooinvested · 7 days

Text

Forgotten, Not Forgiven - Chapter 7

Still reeling from finding out the truth herself, Lena suddenly finds herself in the midst of an odd role reversal in which she knows that Kara is Supergirl, but Kara no longer has any idea she has ever been more than an ordinary human. And what’s more, Lena has no choice but to keep the truth from her for her own protection…

Rift era reconciliation/fix-it fic, starts out kind of on the angsty side but there will be more fluff down the line.

This and previous chapters are also on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Annie: Hey, can we meet? Need to hash some things out re: project specs

Lulu: Yes, but not tonight. I have a bodypump class

Annie: Seriously? I think this takes priority over lifting weights??

Lulu: A bodypump class WITH KATIE

Lulu: The social side is as important as the technical side if we want to get clinical trial subjects on board

Lulu: But I suppose I can meet you afterwards if we can do this with food

Annie: Fine, but shower first I don’t want you dripping sweat all over the important documents

Lulu: Oh fuck off A

Annie: That’s not very professional LL

Despite her intention to remain completely detached, Lena couldn’t help enjoying her text based sparring matches with Alex, which had shifted gradually from brief, to the point messages laced with a certain amount of genuine hostility to something that was more like a kind of good natured antagonism.

It was nothing like the way they had used to interact in the pre-rift days, and it didn’t make them anything more than reluctant allies, but all the same, it was a nice change of pace from dealing with people she had to be perfectly polite to all day as the CEO of L-Corp. At least with Alex (alias Annie) she could tell her to fuck off if she wanted to. It was refreshing. And honestly a little cathartic.

As, in a different way, was going to her exercise class with Kara.

Since their first painful, slightly stilted lunch there had been three more, plus a few quick coffee dates and now a twice weekly gym session; and it had reached the point where she could see her without feeling like she was shattering all over again.

Of course Kara’s betrayal was still a garotte wire around her heart, but there was something about spending time with her like this that… eased it, a little. Because without her knowledge of Supergirl, Kara gained no advantage from being friends with Lena. She wasn’t stringing her along to ensure that she would help next time her expertise or connections came in useful to the DEO. She wasn’t secretly pumping her for information via fabricated interviews. Since Andrea’s takeover had eliminated Catco’s interest in L-Corp, she wasn’t even garnering brownie points at work from it anymore. In fact, apart from a slightly more upmarket brand of coffee than she might otherwise have been drinking (and really, Kara paid for those as often as Lena did), the only thing Kara was getting out of their friendship now was… Lena.

And that seemed to be enough for her.

More than enough.

Despite the fact that she was still skittish about physical contact and had replaced long greeting hugs and cosying up on the sofa with little waves and the odd shoulder touch, Kara had apparently embraced their renewed friendship unreservedly.

She lit up when she saw Lena arrive at the gym for their class, or happened to bump into her at the coffee cart on her way to work; and told her repeatedly how glad she was that they were friends again. She also seemed to have a sixth sense for when Lena was having a bad day, and two of their lunches had been impromptu affairs when Kara (now officially un-banned from the L-Corp premises) had shown up with take out and sympathy, plus enough extra snacks to keep her going for at least a couple of days. This Kara seemed to want nothing from her but herself, and no matter how hard she tried, Lena found it increasingly difficult not to reciprocate.

It would be different once she got her memories back of course, but for now this was useful. It meant that she could fulfill her role in this project without her emotions getting in the way, and that could only be a good thing.

It also didn’t hurt that Kara looked amazing in Lycra.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

‘Hey, thanks for coming on such short notice. I went ahead and ordered Thai, I hope that’s alright’.

Lena’s stomach gave an answering rumble at the sight of the take out boxes, and she nodded.

‘Sure, as long as you remembered the lamb panang’.

‘What do you take me for? I got two’.

Alex held up her own forkful of curry in evidence, already well into her portion by the time Lena had stowed her gym bag and settled at the conference table. She pulled the second container towards her and cracked it open, savouring the waft of fragrant steam that curled up from the food as soon as the lid came off. It was the one dish that the two of them had unfailingly agreed on when they ordered take out, and Lena was surprised that Alex still remembered… or maybe she had just chosen it because it was her own favourite, and buying two of the same had been simplest.

Either way, Lena was glad to have it. She had had a long day of work followed immediately by body pump, and apart from a few swallows of the strawberry shake Kara had insisted they share, it had been at least ten hours now since she had last remembered to eat anything. She took several quick, hungry mouthfuls until she was no longer quite so distractingly ravenous, then turned to the business at hand.

‘So, what did you want to talk about? Did you find something?’

‘Not exactly. I brought those extra specs you asked for from the scanner, but I also just wanted to loop you in on what the rest of us have been doing since we last spoke, and get an update on where you are with the Q-wave treatment. I tried asking Brainy, but he just started rattling off a list of technical details and percentage probabilities of different outcomes without actually giving me any kind of timeline’.

Lena rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she did so.

Of course he had.

‘We’re close. I think another day or so for testing and final adjustments should see it ready to use. I just want to make absolutely sure it’s safe first’.

‘And when it’s ready… how long do you think before we’ll start seeing the effects?’

‘That’s harder to say. We’re in unknown territory here – we don’t even know for sure what the barrier’s made of, let alone whether it will react as we hope. I want to take it very slow to avoid causing any damage by mistake, and there’ll be a learning curve while I fine tune it to Kara’s specific brain waves. It could be weeks. Months even’.

Alex stabbed her fork into a chunk of lamb morosely and sighed.

‘I was afraid you’d say that’.

‘What’s the hurry? Surely it’s more important to make sure we do it right than quickly, and Kara seems to be stable’.

‘Yeah, I know, you’re right. It’s just with Midnight on the loose, and now J’onn’s maybe-evil brother turning up out of nowhere, we could really use Supergirl’s support. Not to mention the unrest her absence is causing around the city. I’m worried if she doesn’t reappear soon we could be looking at riots breaking out, and feeling abandoned by the one alien that most people really trust is not helping with anti-alien sentiments. Dreamer’s stepped up to handle a lot of the day to day stuff which is smoothing things over a bit, and the Alien Amnesty Act getting reinstated has helped, but it’s still a pot that could boil over again if we don’t watch it’.

Lena swirled her fork through her curry, watching the sauce turn the previously unmixed rice from white to yellow. Alex wasn’t wrong – she too had seen the warning signs as the hysterical, inflammatory articles churned out by the gutter press continued to escalate with every day that Supergirl failed to reappear. But that part wasn’t her concern. She was only in this project to get Kara’s memories back, and if life was harder for the DEO in the meantime, well, that was Alex’s problem…

And clearly, it was a problem.

For the first time since she had arrived Lena took in Alex’s appearance properly. She was slumped in her seat, her clothes wrinkled as if she might have slept in them and her eyes ringed with dark shadows as if she might not have slept at all. She had obviously been pulling as many late nights as Lena had recently, without the benefit of the four hundred dollar concealer and fully comprehensive laundry service that kept her own weariness from showing. The pang of sympathy it stirred in her was both unexpected and unwelcome, but Lena couldn’t deny its existence.

She wanted to help.

‘Maybe I could make some adaptations to an image inducer to help keep the peace. I could programme one to mimic Supergirl specifically so that someone else could make a few public appearances on her behalf – just enough to assure everyone that she’s still around. If I can get it to give off the same heat signature as well as appearance and voice, no one should be able to tell the difference even if they scan her. Just as long as she isn’t called on to use her powers beyond what we can work into a modified supersuit’.

Alex considered this, looking momentarily hopeful, but then shook her head.

‘Thanks, but I think it’s better if you focus on perfecting the Q-wave treatment – getting Supergirl back for real needs to be our priority. A public appearance is a good idea though: even if it’s just one interview explaining that she’s away working on something crucial right now but is still watching out for National City and will be back soon, it might help. He’s not going to like it, but I bet we could get J’onn to agree to do it, and he at least has the advantage of actually being able to fly’.

Lena raised an eyebrow, trying and failing to imagine the steadfast, straight laced J’onn J’onzz playing the part of Supergirl.

‘J’onn? Alex, really? Even with shapeshifting, do you really think he can pull that off?’

‘It worked on you’.

Alex spoke lightly, almost like it was a joke, but it wasn't. She seemed to realise exactly what she had just admitted as the words dropped between them like live hand grenades, and all the previous approaching-luke-warm feelings they had managed to build throughout their collaboration froze over in an instant.

‘Shit, Lena I’m sorry. It was just one time, and it was an emergency’.

Lena stayed stiff, her fist clenching around her wooden fork so tightly that it bowed in the middle, threatening to snap under the pressure of her grip.

It was too late for sorry.

All this time she had been struggling with the fact that Kara had been hiding such a huge part of herself, and now it turned out that there had actually been times (one time, so Alex claimed, but why should Lena believe anything from her at this point?) when Kara wasn’t even Kara . She thought back over all the moments they had shared – the intimacies confided, the lingering hugs, the times she had allowed herself to be open in a way she never would have dreamed of with anyone else, and pictured them anew, but with J’onn standing in Kara’s place. It made her feel itchy.

Exposed.

Violated .

‘When?’ she asked through clenched teeth, practically spitting the word in order to keep the shake from her voice and avoid betraying any more of herself to these people than she already had.

Had Kara really been Kara when she promised to always protect her?

When Lena had allowed Kara to see her drunk and self loathing vulnerability after Edge poisoned children in her name?

When she had cried as she confided in her about Lex, and Kara told her she was a brilliant, kind hearted, beautiful soul?

Was any of it ever real?

‘It was nothing, really, you might not even remember. Supergirl was in a coma and James tried to cover at work by telling you that Kara had the flu, but then you decided to go round and check on her. J’onn pretended to be her so you wouldn’t realise she was missing’.

Lena closed her eyes. Of course she remembered.

Kara so rarely got sick, and she had been worried about her. She had taken her soup, and told her about getting together with James. It had been so hard to tell the woman she had unrequited feelings for that she was doing her best to move on with someone else, let alone that she was already afraid it was a mistake, and that he might just be seeing the Luthor name instead of her as a person. But she had persevered, because she loved Kara, and didn’t want a secret to come between them.

What a joke that was.

And now she thought about it, Kara had been acting odd that day, but at the time Lena had put it down to the fever, and the awkwardness of finding out that she was dating someone she had once had feelings for. Because why would she ever suspect that her best friend was being impersonated for the sole purpose of keeping her in the dark and making a fool of her?

She nodded once, put down her fork and pressed the lid back onto her take out box.

‘I have to go’.

She stood up, but Alex grabbed her wrist before she could push back her chair to walk out, hanging on tightly when Lena tried to brush her off.

‘Hey no, Lena, don’t do that. You can’t go off the deep end again. Not now’.

‘Get off me Alex’ she almost growled, but it made no difference. If anything Alex only held on tighter, while the look she turned on Lena was filled with such incongruous understanding that it made her want to scream.

‘I get that this is kind of a messed up thing to find out on top of everything else, but this one wasn’t Kara, okay? She didn’t do it. She was in a coma at the time, Reign was on the loose, we were all freaking out trying to wake her up, and we didn’t know what else to do’.

Kara was in a coma at the time.

Despite herself, a hairline fracture appeared in the ice around Lena’s heart.

Because Kara had been in a coma. Not just Supergirl. Kara. She hadn’t fully taken that part in until now. Lena had been tying herself in knots worrying about fevers and soup and James-fucking-Olsen, and at that exact moment the real Kara had been lying unconscious somewhere without her, beaten so severely that even super powers hadn’t been enough to protect her.

She might have died.

And in that case, of course the last thing on anyone’s mind would have been how the situation might have impacted Lena… but somehow that only made the whole thing more insulting. Things had been so dire, and yet still, they had taken time and resources to spend on lying to her rather than trusting her enough to let her try and help. Because if Lena had found out the truth that way she would have been angry. She would have been furious. But she would have helped. There was no version of Lena that could stand back and watch Kara die without at least trying to save her, no matter how much hurt there was between them. She simply wasn’t capable of it.

‘You could have told me the truth’.

Alex shrugged. ‘It wasn’t our truth to tell. And besides, things were bad enough, the last thing Kara needed was to have her best friend suddenly having all these messy, complicated feelings about her in the middle of that. She needed you to still be her Lena when she woke up’.

‘And what if she hadn’t woken up? What then? You denied me the opportunity to be with her when she needed me the most. You would have denied me the chance to say goodbye to her if things had turned out worse than they did. If I really was Kara’s best friend, then what the HELL gave you that right?’

Somewhere along the way her voice had risen beyond an acceptable volume, but she didn’t care. It felt good to shout at Alex. All this time she had been having cool, controlled arguments with her, when what she really needed was to just scream at her.

‘FUCK YOU ALEX. FUCK ALL OF YOU. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?’

She expected Alex to get up and shout back, or else to have her escorted out of the building, never to be allowed to return, but she didn’t. She took the words that Lena hurled at her and she accepted them, as if she had made a reasonable, well rationed point in a calm conversation the two of them were having.

‘You’re right. The whole situation was fucked up, and none of it should ever have happened. But it did happen, and when it did, there weren’t any good options on the table. We had minutes to decide what to do, and yeah, maybe getting J’onn to step in was the wrong call. I like to think that if things had taken a turn for the worst one of us would have told you about Kara so you could say goodbye to her before it was too late, but to be honest I wasn’t thinking about you at all at the time. I wasn’t thinking about anyone, except Kara, and whether my sister was ever going to wake up again’.

Alex met her eyes, challenging now, though still not without empathy.

‘Would you have been, if you were the one with her?’

And Lena hesitated, though not because she didn’t know the answer. She just didn’t want to admit it, because that would mean she had to stop yelling, and the yelling had felt better than any amount of dignified glaring or wittily crafted retorts. It had freed something inside her that had rarely been allowed room to stretch since she was four years old and had received her first lessons in the rigid control expected of a Luthor. But Alex’s uncharacteristic calm was implacable, and the flame of Lena’s righteous anger flickered dangerously in the face of her apparent willingness to own her mistakes.

She huffed, but lowered her volume back to something more appropriate for a conversation that wasn’t being held from opposite ends of a firing range.

‘I would have at least called you’.

‘I know you would have. And then we would have found a way to bring her round together just like we’re doing now, and all this… shit would never have happened. I wish that was what happened, but it’s not, and I can’t change that. I would if I could’.

Alex was a liar.

That fact was necessitated by her profession and the years she had spent helping her alien sister to pass for human. She was inarguably and unashamedly a liar, and a good one. She was perfectly capable of lying to Lena now.

And yet despite all of the long ingrained instincts that had been screaming at her to leave and never look back from the moment Alex had told her about J’onn’s deception, some foolish, hopeful part of her that refused to die no matter how many times it was ground into the dirt still clung on, an insistent little voice that stood up to the Luthor training and said yes, but what if...

‘You’re just saying that because you want me to keep helping you with the project’.

‘Of course I do. But it’s not just that. You said it yourself, the Q-wave generator is more or less ready. If we had to we could finish it without you and treat Kara ourselves. But I don’t want to. I want you in on this’.

At last Alex let go of her arm, but they were in too deep now, and Lena didn’t try to leave. She swallowed, and asked the one question she couldn’t answer for herself, the word sneaking out in a whisper that was only half meant to be heard.

‘Why?’

Why do you want me on this?

Why do you care?

Why change your mind about trusting a Luthor when you have another choice?

‘Because this project wouldn’t even exist without your help, and you deserve the credit for saving Supergirl. Look, I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I am sorry we didn’t tell you the truth sooner. It was ultimately Kara’s call, but she trusted me to look out for her best interests and I pushed hard for her to keep her identity secret. I admit that I didn’t fully trust you, and I didn’t want you to know the truth for a long time. And I was wrong’.

Lena gave her a look that she hoped conveyed a healthy amount of scepticism, despite her growing hope that maybe, just maybe, she really did mean it. Because Alex was right, they could do this without her now if they needed to, and it wasn’t as though the two of them had ever been close enough to motivate her to lie for the sake of their personal relationship. But it would be stupid to let her know she was succeeding in getting to her, even just a little bit, and Lena kept her tone hard.

‘That seems like a pretty drastic shift for you. You said it yourself. You’ve never trusted me, despite the fact that I proved myself over and over again working with the DEO. So what’s changed this time?’

‘Mostly Kelly, honestly. She kind of tore into me after what happened in the bunker. In a very gentle, therapist, Kelly way, but still. She made me see how much I fucked up, and how unfair I had been to you all the times before that, and I realised that that wasn’t who I wanted to be anymore’.

‘Well, that tracks. Kelly is much nicer than you are’.

It came out slightly more biting that she had intended, but Alex just snorted, apparently unoffended.

‘Yeah, no kidding. But she is also patiently helping me work out how to be less of an asshole when I go into overprotective big sister mode, and I’m getting there. I can’t change what happened between us in the past. But if you give me the chance, maybe I can do better by you this time’.

It was… something. Lena wasn’t quite sure what yet, but it was enough at least that she allowed herself to sink back into her seat.

‘Okay... Okay, I suppose can understand that. I still don’t like it, but I understand how you ended up where you did. I’ll stay and see the project through’.

Alex’s shoulders relaxed, and she picked up her abandoned fork for another bite of rapidly cooling curry.

‘If it’s any consolation to this whole thing, just remember that J’onn had to have a girly heart to heart about you and James Olsen making out while dressed in a fuzzy robe. I still don’t think he’s recovered from that experience’.

Somehow, despite everything that had just passed between them, Lena found a laugh bubbling out of her at the mental image, and Alex joined in.

And a small piece of the hurt she was holding like a barrier between them crumbled away.

#supercorp #kara danvers #supergirl #lena luthor #If you enjoy it consider leaving me a comment on AO3?#my fic #supercorp fanfic #supergirl fanfiction #kara x lena #multi chapter fic #Forgotten Not Forgiven

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