#siris soft fic recs

[thetwelfthcrow]

welcome everyone to 4433 fic recs, a list of my personal favorite fics for the Lewis Hamilton/Max Verstappen ship. whether you're new to the ship or are looking for some rereads, this list is for you. not a shipper? give it a shot i'd say!

AO3 collection with all my Formula One bookmarks

always be sure to check the accurate and updated tags on the fic itself (i only copy a few)! if your fic is on here and you'd like me to link your tumblr then just comment below and i'll change it :)

three small daisies by this_is_my_associate_mr_mc_clap_yo_handz | NR | 22,4k | complete discussions of sexuality / max is sad / lewis is confused / coming out / post AD21

When Lewis opens the door to his Monaco apartment he’s expecting a blender, not Max Verstappen thrusting a box of cupcakes at him in apparent offering.

the entire history of us by supercup | E | 16,5k | complete canon divergence / enemies to lovers / getting together / red bull!lewis

“I think,” Max says, eyes fixed on his fingers trailing along Lewis’ skin. “You think about things too much.” He looks up, meets their eyes. “Don’t think about it so much.”

sub rosa by mercyedes| E | 6,9k | complete secret relationship / little bit of exhibitionism / blow jobs / semi-public sex

siri play whistle by flo rida it's literally just lewis sucking dick in the merc garage, i would never deceive you <3

matchstick people by ecorone | E | 60,2k | complete magical realism / horror / hurt/comfort / pining / drug use / alcohol use

After Lewis Hamilton and Max Verstappen walk away unscathed from an inexplicable crash, they discover that their cars are turning into solid gold, piece by piece. Meanwhile, with a mysterious new investor onboard, Williams Racing sees a meteoric rise back to the top of the grid.

Negotiate by sainzjrs | E | 2,6k | complete high society / wealth

It’s blinding, bleeding and bending Max into someone else.

little lion man by Anney | M | 9,8k | complete getting together / hurt comfort / happy ending

If he had to pinpoint where it all began, Lewis would not know what to say. Perhaps it started with a chance encounter in a supermarket in Monaco, or maybe with the first date that followed, which neither of them would admit was a date (but which they both definitely count as one). Max would say it started because of the cherry-flavoured lube. But if Lewis had to choose a specific time and place where it all began—for him, at least—he’d say Silverstone. (Not that Silverstone.) - The story of how Lewis and Max fell in love, without realizing, and almost fell apart. Almost.

I just hate the way I miss you (and the way it hits me at night) by Missha (Mishtique) | T | 2,2k | complete fic entirely through messages / bitter sweet / open ending

[ lewishamilton can’t receive your messages. This person doesn’t allow any new chat requests ] Max accidentally replies to the first story Lewis posts after Abu Dhabi and finds out that Lewis doesn't accept new chat requests. The one-sided chat becomes somewhat of a safe place.

Melt Like Ice Cubes by WebCookie9 | M | 28,5k | 4/4ch complete summer vacation run-in / getting together / lewis hamilton is a FLIRT

Huh. There standing was a familiar looking dark skinned man, seemingly looking down at his phone or something but Max wasn't sure as the person was completely turned away from him. The sun was burning down strongly on that muscular back, making the skin shine and those damn tattoos gracing it were looking much too familiar to Max. The cross framed by soft looking wings. It couldn't be, right? What were the odds really that Lewis was spending his summerbreak at the exact same location, at the exact same hotel at the exact same time like him? It couldn't be. Maybe it was just some kind of hardcore fan or something, wanting to immitate the Brit. Yeah, that must be it. Or Max was going completely crazy. He should drink something. And get out of this aggressive sun.

I'm fine (I do it every time) by individualist | M | 8,7k | complete hurt-comfort / discussions of trauma / sad

“Can I kiss you?” It’s the strangest thing Max has ever said out loud in his life. If his dad knew, he would kill him on the spot. If Helmut knew, he would kick him off the team. But there’s no one but Lewis and Max in the room, and Max has accepted that he might have lost his shit on the short walk from the front door to his living room. - Max is alone on his birthday and gets a strange message from an unknown British number. (It's Lewis. Of course it's Lewis.)

some day we might by capsize (copenhagenborn) | E | 9,5k | complete alternate universe - non famous / friends to lovers / eventual happy ending

“He has a girlfriend, Max.” Lewis snaps and stands up from the chair to face Max head-on. “Daniel has a girlfriend, and you still fell in love with him, didn’t you?” Max takes a step back, but Lewis is right there with him, following him back until Max has his back against the wall. “You are lying.” He hisses, because – it cannot be. Daniel has never mentioned having anyone at home, he wouldn’t – he would have told Max so if he did. Let him know if his heart wasn’t his to give. “Do not be cruel to me, Lewis.” Lewis laughs, but it’s a wry, mean thing that does nothing to settle Max’s anger. “Of course, you would blame this on me. Take some fucking responsibility for once, Max.” “Fuck you, Lewis.” Max says and pushes past Lewis before he storms out of the room. Or, that’s the nature of crushes. Either they work out or they don’t. Seldom do they make you realise you’re in love with someone else. But then, Max has always been special.

Bones in the Ocean by Yvxson | E | 27,1k | 7/7ch, complete alternate universe - college/university / enemies to lovers / bit of a slowburn

Max is trying to write his dissertation for his master's degree in Maritime History, the biggest downside to this isn't the lack of sleep, or the long days spent in the library trying to get his research done. No, it's definitely Lewis, who is working on his own dissertation and who always seems to be in Max's way. Everything is going perfectly fine (if you ignore the building up caffeine addiction, his wrecked social life, and the weird dreams that seem to plague him every time he closes his eyes.)

Want you to call me baby by individualist | E | 11k | complete angst / dirty talk / lewis is retired / dom-sub undertones

Lewis is retired and Max is dominating the sport. Turns out, Max really can’t deal with the pressure of it all.

he wants to fuck that old(er) man | T | 2,4k | complete crack fic / coming out / social media / texting

Max is never going out with Lando again. This is all his fault. or in which Max gets drunk, makes a bad decision, and has to deal with the fallout. It ends up alright, though. [Graphic Format: uses a lot of HTML and CSS]

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askbox always open for your favorite 4433 fics! i love to know what you love to read. this list is not complete (nor will it ever be) and will be updated irregularly. enjoy reading!

#zhalia's lil' chit chat #made a whole ass banner for this y'all better like it #4433 #4433 fic recs #it's the start of a new thing. it is by far not done or complete rn but i wanted to see if y'all like this #otp: not god and his angel

[r0reep]

Rec list

Stranger things, marvel, marauders era, the umbrella academy, slashers

Stranger things

EDDIE MUNSON

Tongue

Eddie Munson smut AND Jason Carver slander. What could possibly be better?

Such a strange girl

Eddie and hippie being cuties.

Movie night

Bat Eddie and his uncle Wayne.

Noodle

Ferret dad Eddie.

Family

Wayne being a protective uncle and so much comfort.

STEVE HARRINGTON

Stay awake

The softest and fluffiest angst around.

Pretty

Steve deserves all the praises.

Dream

Cutie Steve beginning his dad life.

BILLY HARGROVE

Welcome to the party

Kind of ooc Billy but being a protective cutie.

Road gate

Very soft Billy with sadness but fluffy ending.

Marvel

BUCKY BARNES

Personal pillow

Kick your feet, twirl your hair type of fluff.

Pocket angel

Cry your eyes out type of fluff.

Sweeter than sugar

Chubby Bucky owns my heart and soul, forever and always.

Your protector, forever

A dark but soft Bucky.

Can you not

Possessive Bucky is a hot Bucky.

The bet

People being meanies to Bucky and a protective reader.

Serendipity

Bucky just trying to live with an unhinged neighbour.

Around my neck

Bucky being a silly jealous boy.

STEVE ROGERS

Religion

Dark Steve and innocent reader.

LOKI LAUFEYSON

Little realisations

I agree tall people are scary.

End credits

Loki being a sweetie.

Hot tea

Jotun Loki smut. Chefs kiss.

Marauders

JAMES POTTER

She hexed me!

Stupid lover boy Jamie.

SIRIUS BLACK

That doesn’t leave us many options

Cutie Siri and beautiful references to blanket forts.

REMUS LUPIN

Easy sleeping

Soft domestic relationship.

REGULUS BLACK

Regulus Black x Potter!Reader

Dramatic James and soft Reggie.

The umbrella academy

FIVE HARGREEVES

Music to my ears

Cute husband and wife shit. A whole lotta caring Five.

Hotel waffles

Retired loving Five.

Partners

The best type of relationship.

My little stress eater

Softest five around. All the fluffs while still being a bad bitch.

Slashers

Slasher cuddling HC

Falling asleep on slashers

Slashers s/o with tattoos

Slashers reaction to their s/o laying on top of them

Slashers with a demon s/o

Giving slashers massages

Slashers with s/o who has weird cravings for inedible things

Slashers with s/o who proves their loyalty to them

Hide ‘N Seek (Bo Sinclair)

Blind (Bo Sinclair)

Yautja with a chiropractor s/o

Wasted on a dream

Wound tending (Bo Sinclair)

Kissing slashers in a panic before they kill you Part 2

Male yautja trying out a period cramp simulator with his human mate

Michael and Jason with a reader who plays the sims

Miscellaneous

MATT MURDOCK

One more time

A soft and fluffy fic that provides Matt with love and happiness.

SPENCER REID

Every last bite

Cute Spencer and magic baker, so cute!

AARON HOTCHNER

Home sweet home

Aaron being protective and little rage for spice.

The Walking Dead

DARYL DIXON

Day drinking and it’s consequences

Glenn and reader being drunken simps. Cute Daryl just trying his best.

No matter what they say

Grumpy and sunshine.

Found you

The cutest reunion and Merle being a good guy.

A single punch

A truly heartbreaking and stunning story, Maggie being amazing.

#marvel cinematic universe #marvel #bucky barnes #eddie munson #steve harrington #steve rogers #eddie brock #five hargreeves #the umbrella academy #tua #marauders #sirius black #james potter #regulus black #remus lupin #slashers x reader #daryl dixon x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #slasher smut #brahms heelshire x reader #poly ghostface x reader #slashers #daryl dixon #matt murdock #spencer reid #aaron hotchner

[siriuslybea]

I need wolfstar fic recs, preferably with the more soft boy remus rather than soft boy sirius

Why am I just now seeing this, um fuck I honestly don't know if I have any soft boy Remus' fics bookmarked to be honest, since well I see Siri as more of a sub over Remu but this is pretty good it's more of a mix of both I think but not exactly sure because it's been a hot minute since I've read it due to it being updated slowly, I don't even remember if Siri topped but I do know Remus has a bit just FYI

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23924323/chapters/57530098

[extasiswings]

I've been camping in the woods for a week and don't know anything about Vermont except that it MUST involve soft flannels worn over waffle henleys that look sexy on Eddie and adorable on Christopher. Am I on the right track?

Vermont!!!!!!! The Vermont verse is an amazing soft AU by @thisissirius and @hearteyesforbuck that you can find most of here and then also in various prompt fills that I think are all tagged “vermont verse” on their respective blogs.  The basic premise is that Eddie comes home after leaving the army and writes a book as his own form of therapy which ends up really taking off and he ultimately moves to Vermont with Christopher, ends up being neighbors with Bobby and Athena, meets Buck (who is a contractor) after a home emergency (tree falling through roof), and falls in love (naturally).  It’s beautiful, I am very fragile and extremely emotional about all of it, and I highly recommend.  

#chapel talks #vermont verse #siri and eli said soft eddie rights and we should all thank them for their service #even when they're making me cry #fic rec #sharkflip

[anika-ann]

Words Whispered in the Dark

Type: Modern-college-professor AU - part of Attached series or a standalone

Pairing: professor!Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 6250🙈

Summary: There are things, intimate desires, which people simply don’t want to talk about out loud. Since you prefer writing those down, it applies twice as much. 

Steve supports your writing – but what he’d think about your newest story… well, you’re not sure you wanted to know.

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, bondage, oral (M rec), consensual sensory deprivation, praise kink & body worship, ‘babygirl’, fingering, dom/sub undertones & implied age gap & professor-student dynamic & cumplay if you squint, language ---- (let me know if I missed any…why is the list so long wtf)

A/N: Can be read as a standalone. Part of the Attached ‘verse with professor!Steve.

A/N: For Siri’s 5K Soft Dark Challenge. Congratulations to the rightfully earned milestone ❤️ Thank you for hosting the challenge and kindly including even soft fics (even though I feel like my soft got lost in translation a bit).

Prompt: “Oh, honey, you weren’t supposed to see that.” - bold in the text, pls don’t @ me for the way I used it.

Stepping back into your and Steve’s shared bedroom and study room in one, you froze on spot, heart leaping to your throat.

You were lucky you didn’t drop your coffee and snack upon the sight of him, your fingers gripping the items tighter in surprise instead. But fuck, was it a close call.

Because few minutes ago, you moved to the kitchen to grab some refreshments for your brain. Relaxed air had settled over your tiny but loving household on a late Sunday morning; Steve was chilling on the bed, while you sat by your desk, laptop in your lap as your fingers danced over the keyboard, putting into words your latest… uhm, story. It was going great too and being able to steal glances at your gorgeous fiancé and muse in one person was a pleasant bonus.

Steve was, as sheepish as it sometimes made you, well-acquainted with your passion for writing, even rooting for you in his fully-supportive partner mode at all times. He read a few things of yours, both dirty and sweet ones, and he seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. You weren’t hiding things from him, never had to; and damn, did it feel good for both of you.

So technically, you knew there was a chance you’d find him behind your desk, eyes skimming over your words since you left the computer opened, just like the document, but… well.

Nothing could prepare you for the sight on him actually doing it, shoulders tense, Adam’s apple bobbing, breathing shaky as his chest kept rising and falling irregularly.

Your own breath hitched at the sight, face feeling like set aflame, pulse hammering in your temples.

Oh no. Oh shit. This wasn’t happening--

Truth was, you really had no problem sharing your stories with Steve. But this one… well, fuck. You were so fucking screwed.

“Oh---oh honey,” you stuttered, the endearment you rarely used tasting foreign on your tongue. That was how out of it you were upon realizing what was happening here.

Steve was reading it. Steve was reading that thing. That shameless, entirely dubious thing that--- this was bad. Bad, bad, bad, really fucking bad—he hadn’t run for the hills before, no matter how filthy your stories got, but now he certainly would.

Steve’s head snapped to you at instant, cheeks flushed, eyes wide as he was caught red-handed.

“You- uh, you weren’t supposed to… see that,” you stuttered awkwardly, still unable to move an inch.

Maybe you should run for the hills just so you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath?

He didn’t react apart from spinning in the chair to face you, throat working again as his gaze trailed up and down your figure clad in a simple shirt and shorts, fluffy socks to keep your feet warm. Despite your plain outfit, his gaze burned with intensity and dare to say hunger, enough to stir heat in your belly.

Realizing this might be the last time you’d ever see him (okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration, maybe, but better safe than sorry), you let yourself to take him in as well, again, even if you knew every line of his body, every detail. The cut of his jaw, tendons in his throat tense as well as his shoulders, long fingers griping the armrests, legs slightly parted, accenting the unmistakable growing bulge between them.

Your heart skipped a startled and excited beat. Oh. Well. At least he liked what he read, you supposed, even if all bells in your head were ringing it alarm, because… that. That kind of story would be a little too much for him, you had thought.

Was it?

“Come here,” he whispered, voice hoarse as if he had just woken up, the same voice that caressed your ear as he rutted into you, in the lazy loving which so perfectly fit a morning like this.

Willing your feet to move, teeth sunk into your lower lip, your fluffy socks padded almost soundlessly against the floor as you obeyed his request.

He gestured for you to rid yourself of the items in your hands; once again, you obliged.

The second your hands were free, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you in for a dirty kiss, fingers sinking into your hair to keep you exactly where he wanted you. Sighing in relief, you relaxed into his affection and he wasted no time licking into your mouth, his free hand gripping onto your shirt (his shirt) to drag you into his lap.

A hazardous position in an office chair, one might think. But you had a lot of practice with your favourite professor.

Sliding lower in the seat and pulling you up, Steve positioned you to his liking, drawing an appreciative hum from you as his erection rubbed deliciously against your core. You felt him smile into the kiss at the little sound you made, his fingers digging into your flesh in order to press you into him further, rutting against your quickly dampening centre.

Okay, who were you kidding. You had been writing down your filthy fantasy, you were already soaked, Steve’s movements and apparent enthusiasm just adding to the heat. A whine escaped your lips when he withdrew a fraction, giving you a chance to breathe, hand slipping under your shorts to fondle your lower cheek.

“Well, I did see it, sweetheart,” Steve said lowly, a little too short of breath for the teasing to work in his favour. Still, your stomach twisted in anticipation of what was to follow. “And I want it.”

Your eyes snapped open, your lips parting in awe, butterflies erupting in your stomach. You met his eyes, dark pupils having almost swallowed the blue of his irises, gaze intent to prove his point. Fuck. You could come right now if he kept you sitting exactly as you were and watching you like that.

It was one thing to see him react to your fantasy laid bare for him to see – voluntarily or not – but him admitting it out loud, well that was just a whole new fucking level.

Now the idea of that actually being doable was planted in our brain and your core clenched at the wistful image you had painted with your words.

It took you another minute of staring at each other to realize what exactly he was saying without explicitly voicing it.

“Wait, right now?” you blurted out breathlessly, a single nod and a kiss to the corner of your mouth your only answer.

Fuck. Shit. Okay.

“A-alright. Let’s do this then,” you stuttered, as thrilled as nervous.

You didn’t expect that – but you weren’t one to let the opportunity pass. You framed Steve’s face with your palms, his beard rough against your skin, and pressed your lips to his in a hurried kiss, eager to get him where you needed him before he changed his mind. Last grind of your hips, swallowing his content hum, you climbed from his lap to search for something that would hold.

“Bed. Now.”

Your fingers were shaking a bit under his intent gaze as they slipped under his t-shirt, pulling it over his head. Steve was sitting on the bed now, legs parted enough for you to stand between them, watching our every move. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to the way he was looking at you – so tender, with longing and yet with such lust.

It lit your nerves on fire in the worst and best ways and that was alright with you, as long as you’d get to keep him.

He smiled at you softly, a little quirk to his eyebrow when he caught you staring and not springing into action just yet.

“What is it, babygirl?”

His hands trailing up your waist made it harder to answer.

You sighed, feeling your earlier confidence wavering. “You’re just so fucking pretty, it’s unreal.”

His lips curled up in a smirk, but the light in his eyes gave away just how much the compliment meant for him. He pulled you closer, a breathy kiss landing on your clothed stomach.

“That coming from you… could look at you all day, you must already know that,” he murmured to your shirt, sending a sparkle of courage up your chest.

You ruffled his hair and pushed him away with a chuckle, mirroring his previous smirk.

“Well, you won’t, not this time,” you sing-sang cheekily, stepping over his thigh to kneel on the bed behind him, hearing his breath catch, his hand brushing your thigh as you danced out of his reach.

Placing the scarf over his forehead first, you felt your insides twist in anticipation, fingertips tingling. God, you were really doing this.

“You ready, Professor Rogers?” you hummed to his ear, marvelling at the effect the title had on him, always, as his hands clenched into fists on his thighs.

“When you say it like that, babygirl? Yes, I am,” he grumbled, causing you to bit down on your lip.

Making sure you didn’t tie the knot too tight nor too loose, you moved the fabric so it would cover his eyes.

“Good?”

“Uh-huh,” was his wordless answer as you let your hands slid to his bare shoulders.

Steve was undoubtedly a specimen. He was every male-attracted person’s wet dream and you were the one getting your hands on him.  You thanked heaven and hell for it every day. The barely visible lines of his abs, toned chest… but Christ, it was his back that would be your downfall.

Allowing your hands to wander, your fingertips traced the hard lines of his deltoids, a featherlight touch making him shudder and your mouth to actually salivate. Dropping a kiss between his shoulder blades, you scooted closer so you were literally breathing down his neck, palms sprawled over his triceps, caressing his thick biceps, down his forearms and over his fists and all the way back up.

It was almost like a beginning of a massage, you supposed, but no one could blame you if you were enjoying the sensation on your palms a little too much. You didn’t get the opportunity to appreciate Steve’s physique like this often enough. So you indulged yourself a few more times, applying more pressure, dropping a kiss to the crook of his neck every once in a while. He winced at the accidental scrape of your nails up his forearm, causing you to halt in your movements.

“You still good?” you questioned quietly, genuinely worried for a second. You realized he had barely made a sound so far.

“You could say that, yeah,” he choked out you felt your lips curl up into a smile. Stealing a glance over his shoulder, you took notice of the unmistakable hard outline on his sweatpants and gleefully resumed your movements, nibbling on his shoulder before soothing the skin with a gentle lick. “Babygirl…”

“Yeah?”

“You know what. Don’t test me,” he warned, only making you smile wider.

“Or what?”

He turned his head to side despite not being able to see you, giving you a perfect view of how tense was his jaw. Oh, you could imagine the stern look he wanted to scold you with.

“Or you’re not gonna like what’s to come when I put my hands on you,” he threatened, sighing exasperatedly when you replied with a barely audible ‘promise?’.

“In all seriousness though… what if you… uhm, couldn’t?” you asked reluctantly, not keen on sharing what you wanted… but wanting it really badly. You were sensing a pattern within yourself, seriously.

“I don’t follow---  oh,” escaped him soundlessly as your fingers attempted to wrap around his wrists and squeezed to give him a hint. “I don’t know about that, I mean-“

You felt your hear sink in disappointment, but you tried not to let it show, wondering how to try to convince him one more time. Sure, if it was a no-no, then you wouldn’t force him, he never forced you into anything either and this was about your mutual pleasure, but… now, having him partially at your mercy, the idea nudged insistently on your mind and the image of him with his hands tied above his head while you could do anything you pleased… you might have been soaking the shorts and the sheets at that.

“We don’t have to, Steve,” you assured him kindly, hundred percent honest despite planning on playing dirty. Your hands moved to his abdomen, caressing their way up his chest, accidently brushing over his left nipple, your lips moving to his ear. “But I’d be so good to you…”

“Babygirl,” he whispered, out of breath as your hand wandered down his happy trail, slipping just under the hem of his sweats, the fingers of your other hand moving to the neglected nipple, this time shamelessly toying with it.

“I’d be such a good girl for you, Professor Rogers,” you promised, keeping the smile off your voice when you heard him gulp, his cock visibly twitching. “I’d be really, really nice. Don’t you want that, Professor?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, okay-“

“Good choice,” you said approvingly, dropping a kiss to his cheek, making him groan and probably regret his decision already. You stood up, quickly looking for something you could use. “Just so you know, I think this is where the same rule applies,” you noted matter-of-factly. “You don’t like something I do, you want me to stop at any point, you tell me. I really want this to be good for you, Steve. So. What’s the word?”

From the front, you could see the blush that spread over his chest, causing you to bite your lip and nearly stumble over your feet. Good lord, Steve blindfolded, all flushed and waiting for you on the bed so you could do your worst--- now that was a sight to behold.

“Uhm… Waterloo?”

You bit your cheek so you wouldn’t laugh at his choice. It was cute and ridiculous... but also kinda hot, because well, Steve’s brains were just another turn-on for you. Of course he would choose something like that. Professor Steven Grant Rogers, history buff, certified hot nerd, the sweetest man to ever walk the Earth.

You pressed your lips together to prevent yourself from smiling too wide. You didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like he could see you.

“Okay. Waterloo it is,” you said, swiftly moving to the closet when another idea popped in your head.

Slipping into a new outfit before heading back, you were rather satisfied with yourself as you grabbed the two ties you found prior. Not that it would actually hold him – it was about the idea.

“You’re taking a bit long, babygirl…”

“And? You mind?” you teased him, stopping to stand in front of him. “Have some… pressing issues?”

“Keep it up, babygirl, see what happens once this is over,” he bit back, only making you chuckle at the perfect pass.

“I think there’s something else that’s up--- sorry, sorry,“ you mumbled when his hand landed blindly on your thigh.

His brows furrowed when he felt the difference.

“You changed.”

“Uh-huh.”

His hand trailed up curiously, right under your miniskirt and you let him… just until air got stuck in his throat upon finding you with nothing but the generous amount of slick covering your core.

“Fuck-“

“Nope,” you replied cheekily, even if the flicker of his finger caused you to shudder, his touch like liquid fire at this point.

Fuck, you wanted him. You wanted him right now and you wanted him to take you in every way he wanted… but the idea of him at your mercy was appealing enough for you to control yourself.

You grasped his wrist and shoved it away; he allowed it, but not without whining pitifully.

“Lie down, Steve, please. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You better,” he grunted, unwillingly moving up the bed, obediently spreading out on the sheets and letting you guide his arms up as you climbed over him and tied his wrists together.

“Not too tight?”

He shook his head, a smirk crossing over his lips. You rolled your eyes at the double meaning, but you guessed it served you right.

Oh, but would you wipe that smirk off…

Securing the knot, you shifted to be face to face with him, lips hovering just above his mouth, breathing the same air and hoping to begin the sweet torture.

You had to admire his patience; despite definitely noticing your positions, Steve didn’t move an inch. It was up to you then – and the premise sent another thrill through your veins. Oh, you’d break him in the most delicious ways.

As soon as you erased the distance, his lips sunk into yours hungrily, wet and soft in the contrast to his beard, the sensation you adored, having you squirming above him until you remembered again that you were the one in control.

You kissed him with vigour, licking into his mouth, one hand still where his were joined, the other pressing against his chest. Your tongue met his, revelling at his taste and at another of his tries to dominate the kiss, to set things as they usually were. But as much as you loved it when he took charge… not today.

Parting abruptly, his lips following on instinct, you couldn’t but grin to yourself. Kissed his fingertips, you lingered at the one still glistening with your juices. You took it to your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and sucking lightly, feeling Steve’s heart speed up under your palm like crazy.

When you lightly grazed the skin with your teeth, his groan and the way his hips thrusted upward was the best reward you could get.

Kissing a trail down his arm – because goddammit you loved his arms – you hummed to yourself contentedly whenever you could feel the slightest shift of his body under yours and greedy for more contact, you allowed yourself to put most of your weight fully on him.

The choked sound it elicited from him startled you at first – until you realized that with your skirt hiked up, you weren’t the only one enjoying the skin-on-skin contact, your slick coating Steve’s lower stomach just above his sweats. Hopefully it was giving him ideas – it was certainly was to you.

Rustle of fabric, ragged breaths, occasional smacking noise when you moved up or left a small hickey on his shoulder and above his collarbone. Your fingers toyed gently with his nipples as you kissed his sternum before replacing your hands with your mouth once more, sucking, drawing a quiet whimper from him.

Fuck couldn’t get enough of the noises he was making. The pretty breathless moans of your name, the curses slipping from his lips… it was like music, but on a desperately low volume.

“What is it you always tell me?” you teased, lamely covering for the fact that your own arousal was nearly uncontainable. Shit, you loved how sensitive his nipples were… how much more sensitive he must have been now, no visual, laser focused on every touch instead? You wanted more… so much more. “Don’t hold these pretty sounds from me?”

Steve gritted his teeth at the remark, but as soon as you positioned your heat directly over his hard length and rolled your hips, he sang for you beautifully.

“Shit, sweetheart-“

The rush of confidence, the feeling of power was almost overwhelming – the image of him, lips parted in mute pleasure, certainly was. You were a little too close to climbing your own peak a little too quickly to your liking.

Sitting up straight, you undulated your hips few times, hands tracing patterns over Steve’s rapidly rising chest and abs. Much to his obvious dislike, you all too soon slid lower, your mouth making its way down his abdomen and then you finally, finally rid him of his sweatpants and boxers in one go.

His cock sprang free, hard and red at the tip, leaking just enough to cause your mouth to water and your thighs to rub together to give yourself some of the friction you craved so much.

Hands planted on his hips, you kissed along his hip bones and the apex of his thighs, taking your sweet time exploring everything you could – except for where you suspected he wanted you the most. You had to grin for yourself when you cupped his balls, causing him to hiss in relief, the muscles of his abdomen and legs clenching beautifully.

“Talk to me, Steve,” you hummed as you replaced your hand with your tongue, licking a stripe towards his base.

“Christ- don’t stop--“

“Eloquent as always, Professor,” you retreated, causing him to let out a growly sound you never heard before and had your core tingle, cunt feeling awfully empty.

Christ was right, alright. Seeing his chest heaving, fingers twitching as if he wanted nothing but to tug at your hair to keep you there and stuff your mouth full of his cock---  if you didn’t get some soon, you might actually combust.

So you put your mouth back to work on his sack again, fingers barely curling around the base of his cock, giving a first experimental stroke before you squeezed a bit tighter – and then swiftly moved away, his hips following on instinct in, craving more.

“For fuck’s --- how did I ever think you were sweet and nice?” he complained huskily, impatience lacing his voice.

You chuckled, but heard him out, leaving his balls in order to give more attention to his impressive and possibly painfully hard length.

“Beats me,” you retorted, hands busy with gentle strokes to his shaft. “I mean, we literally got together thanks to you finding out I wrote about sucking and riding your dick right in your office, Professor Rogers.”

“You little-“

His protests died in his throat, features twisting in wordless pleasure when you finally wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, delivering a few kitten licks to the tip. His taste exploded on your tongue, eliciting a content hum which he certainly felt too, because a jerk of his hips pushed him deeper to your mouth.

Slowly swallowing as much as you could without having him hit the back of your throat, you curled your hand tighter around the base and started bobbing your head.  

A string of breathless profanities left his mouth whenever you squeezed, only getting filthier when you hollowed your cheeks. It was all encouragement you needed to take him deeper, giving him a taste of heaven as his tip brushed the back of your throat.

“Babygirl, fuck, fuck, yeah--- just like that…”

Your own arousal became unbearable, a surge of hot need squeezing your insides at Steve’s praise. Slipping a hand under your skirt, you sighed in relief when your fingers caressed your lower lips, hips bucking forward in desperate need of more.

Your predicament was impossible to solve – you wanted him inside you already, so badly, but fuck the picture Steve made, even if blurry as tears prickled your eyes whenever he hit the back of your throat, was just too divine.

Lips crimson with how he kept biting at them to keep at least a little quiet, hair sticking to his forehead, muscles drawn tight like strings as he kept clenching them both unwittingly and consciously in hope to get you where he wanted you and the fresh taste of him whenever you did something he particularly liked--- you simply had to feast your eyes on him. And he couldn’t do the same… or take charge for that matter.

So fucking pretty like this.

And you were the only one seeing him like that, tied up, helpless against the assault on his senses sans vision. He gave himself up to you like that, willingly. The thought warmed you up inside out, enough to drive you nearly as crazy as if you were in his place.

Wasting no time with preparation you didn’t need, you pushed two fingers into your core at once, whimpering around Steve’s cock when you did. Your whole body relaxed, the pent-up desire easing a little and yet burning hotter. You pumped your fingers slowly, the sensation so blissful you had to remind yourself to keep working on Steve too.

Still, your actions didn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you—are you touching yourself, babygirl?” he whispered, tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

It took you a second to swallow the baseless embarrassment and literally swallow, causing Steve to let out a moan so wrecked and pretty you felt your pussy clamp around your fingers.

Hoping your words would come out less shy than you felt when saying them, you released Steve’s length with a wet pop to tease him some more.

“Yeah, I am…. Why? You want a taste?” you asked sweetly, clearing your throat that suddenly felt so empty.

The guttural moan that erupted in Steve’s chest was music to your ears, his cock twitching and glistening with fresh beads of precum a sight to behold.

“Yeah, babygirl… give it to me,” he choked out and the genuine desire in his voice was like a punch to your solar plexus. Your walls clenched around your fingers, the familiar coil in your abdomen tightening.

Swallowing a pitiful sigh at the loss, you stretched over the warm length of Steve’s body, gulping when his own parted in invitation.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Reluctantly, you let the fingers sticky with your juices brush over Steve’s lips, gasping when his tongue instantly slid out to lick at the essence eagerly, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Fuck, always so sweet, babygirl…” he muttered, your breath stuck in your throat when his mouth blindly chased after your fingers before you could withdraw your hand.

“Oh my god-“ you choked out, mesmerized, your pussy clamping around nothing.

He sucked greedily, the image alone causing your hips to rut against his, your clit catching against his rock-hard shaft. Your eyes fluttered close in bliss, stars exploding behind your eyelids.

Unwittingly, you worked your hips faster, riding Steve’s thick cock even without having him inside. The friction, the soaked fabric of your skirt brushing against your clit, the sensation of Steve’s tongue lapping at your fingers as if he had his mouth on your pussy instead--- you felt the coil in your belly snap, the world turning white before you knew how.

You came with a broken cry, blissed out and shocked at the sudden release, but riding your pleasure out on instinct.

Grazing your fingers with his teeth as he let go, Steve spoke words so filthy our head spun.

“That’s it, babygirl. Fuck. Look how little my girl needed to come all over my cock. Using me so shamelessly.  You must have really wanted it, didn’t you…” he said, voice hoarse with a tint of smugness as you came back from your high, the dirty talk only already riling you up again.

You had no idea what just happened, but you had a feeling Steve immensely enjoyed it as he somehow got the upper hand on you despite being the one tied up.

For someone who was supposed to have all blood out of his brain and have it in his dick instead, he was way too smug… but you’d reverse it again. He had no idea what was about to hit him.

Stealing a kiss to taste ourself on his tongue, your fingers went to remove the blindfold.

Your professor was, in certain aspects, still just a simple guy – he liked a good visual. It was silly of you to rid him of it in the first place, no matter how much fun you had with it.

Steve blinked in surprise, squinting against the sudden light, while you slipped out of your bralette, leaving you in nothing but your very schoolgirl-like mini skirt. You smiled at him sweetly, kissing his mouth once more, thumb softly brushing his lips as you towered over him, nearly giving him a view of what was under the fabric.

“I always want you,” you whispered with a smile, your hand cupping your breast, gently tweaking your nipple, his gaze following the movement as his fingers twitched. You bit the inside of your cheek, hand slowly trailing down. “Want you to touch me, everywhere. Always so wet and ready for you…”

Dark eyes watched you as you slipped your fingers under the waist of the skirt, a tiny mewl escaping you when the pad of your fingers bumped into your clit.

You would have felt stupid trying to give him a show after you came after almost nothing, but the warning growl of your name once again assured you that unsexy was the last thing that came to Steve’s mind when looking at you. It warmed both your belly and your heart. You almost felt regretful for a moment that you were still keeping him hanging, neglecting his no doubt aching cock, but he thought he had the upper hand here.

He was wrong.

“Always thinking of you… even when I’m alone, always thinking about your fingers, stretching me so good, about you fucking me, so hard till I’m screaming your name,” you continued in hushed voice, revelling at how tight his jaw set, eyes narrowed, breathing once again picking up.

“Babygirl—”

“Oops, sorry,” you chipped, pecking his lips as you withdrew your hand, quickly drawing a trail of kisses down his chest and abdomen, unable to resist a lick here and there where the line of his muscles looked particularly tasty. “Just thought you’d like to see my mouth on you. You like to watch, Professor Rogers, no?”

He never got a chance to answer as you guided him to your mouth again, holding his gaze as he indeed watched, eyebrows furrowing, each breath hitching, soon chanting your name. You caressed his balls as well, tongue tracing the vein on the underside of his length, your other hand firmly around his base.

You were the first to avert his gaze as your eyes fluttered close so you could fully focus on your task, relaxing your throat.

“Babygirl--- fuck me-- I’m gonna-“

You eased up a bit, earning a frustrated growl, the corners of your lips rising a bit as you imagined the ugly glare he must have shot you.

Thinking about it, closing your eyes was a mistake.

You never saw it coming as a hand suddenly sunk into your hair, yanking you up face to face with him, alarmed eyes staring into black ones as his pupils nearly swallowed all the blue or his irises.

He had slipped out of the poorly tied bonds, clearly fed up with your shenanigans.

Ah-oh, sounded in the back of your mind.

Another part of you didn’t fail to notice that despite the swift movement and calling an end to your games, Steve’s fingers were careful not to pull too harshly, making sure he was cradling your head safely. Same when he rolled you over, trapping you under the hard lines of muscle you had been tasting a moment ago, protective cage of his arms around your head.

If you weren’t so startled, you would have swooned.

You never got the chance, because any possible sound was muffled by his mouth crashing into yours, hand slipping from your nape to your throat to keep you in place with a wordless warning, hips pressed to yours just in case you would want to escape.

You would never. Even if you had a hunch Steve was about to ruin you in a way that would have you feel it for days.

Having enough of your mouth for the moment, giving you a chance to gasp for air, he stared at you smugly, one corner of his perfectly red lips raised in a smirk.

“Wicked little thing, aren’t you?” he grunted, thumb caressing the hollow of your throat softly, causing you to gulp.

You summoned your best innocent look, doe-like eyes that usually worked. “S-sorry?”

A flicker of a smile as he forced his knee between your thighs, instantly pressing against your still sensitive core.

“I don’t think you are, babygirl,” he huffed, nosing the crook of your neck, biting down sharper than you expected, a yelp erupting from your throat. He soothed in with the pad of his thumb, smiling wide, something soft in his eyes when he looked at you again. You were so fucking baffled at what that meant. ”That perfect filthy mind of yours… and you still get a bit shy, huh?”

“W-what?”

“You know what I think, babygirl?” he whispered intimately, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “I think that you left the document opened on purpose.”

Your rapidly beating heart stopped in your chest, wind knocked out of you completely.

Fuck.

You were so busted.

Steve had read you like a book wide open--- because of course he did.

Yes, there had been a great part of you who wished for him to see it, hoping in this exact outcome; there had been an equally great part dreading what he would think about you. Writing the story down, you were thinking a bit more with your pussy than your brain though, so you decided to leave it for Steve to read. If he went for it, maybe you’d get something from it. If he didn’t, you’d move on. No harm no fool, right?

Right. No.

Now he did know and saw right through your little trick. And damn, did he look proud of himself for figuring it out. You were in so much trouble.

Somehow, you were as horrified as excited.

Steve chuckled as you swallowed against your suddenly dry throat, eyes no doubt wide as saucers.

“Oh, you did. Too shy to ask for it, leaving that to me instead. My sneaky, needy girl,” he muttered, fondness and humour with a dark lilt in his voice.

“I—I didn’t know how-“ you stuttered, feeling your face burning in embarrassment at his tone, just a smidge patronizing.

You averted his gaze, a vain attempt really, knowing he wouldn’t let you. Slipping two fingers under your chin, he guided you to face him again.

“Didn’t know how… hmm… so you thought you’d play me? That’s really naughty, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry… Professor Rogers,” you added quickly in hopes to mollify him, indeed earning a sweet kiss.

“Oh, it’s okay, babygirl. You know why?” he tested you and you could only shake your head lightly, guessing at best what kind of revenge awaited you. “Because you’re my good girl and you’ll let me settle the score. I’ll play with you now. It’s only fair, no?”

Oh fuck, here it came.

For a brief second, his lust-filled eyes appeared startingly clear and sober, boring into yours with a serious question.

It’s only fair, no? he had said.

It’s alright with you if the roles reverse, right? was what he was truly asking, checking, always checking if you were okay, just like you had been checking with him.

Because sex was fun, but only if all parties were on board.

Because Steve was sweet, considerate, soft and loving and he was everything you ever looked for in a man and more. You trusted him. You always did and you trusted him now – he would make you feel so so good. It was never really a question.

“Y—yes, it is.”

“Good girl,” he praised you, causing your core to weep. And he knew it, oh did he know and shamelessly used it against you... a little payback to all the professor you’d been throwing around. “Close your eyes.”

And you did. The blindfold came first, then hands, his fingers skimming over your forearms teasingly, feather-light touch on your sensitive skin, before he finally brought them up and tied them together.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

No, you were absolutely not ready, but your body was buzzing with desire again at that point, so you breathed a soft yes. And maybe, just maybe… no matter how you had enjoyed driving him crazy, cheeky and full of feeling of power, this felt like home. Because you trusted him – and so you gave yourself to him wholly.

He hummed in contentment as you confirmed, causing you shiver as he nosed the skin under your ear. “Good. Because I’m going to wreck you for that little stunt of yours.”

His words tickled the sensitive skin and shit, okay, your nerve endings were tingling, the sensation amplified tenfold with your eyes covered. Steve really was going to wreck you.

Mouth moving to your breast, he took the nipple in his mouth, shifting so the head of his cock nudged at your weeping opening, pushing just a bit with a promise of a delicious stretch, almost, almost there.

“Please,” was all you managed to breathe out, growing impatient, hissing when gave a playful bite to the underside of your breast, sending a surge of arousal through your veins. You back arched, a mewl escaping your when Steve moved his hips away completely, denying you.

“And you’re gonna take it, aren’t you?” he muttered to your skin, lips trailing lower and lower, warm and soft, beard leaving behind a delicious burn.

“Y- yes.”

“Good girl. And what else are you going to do? Tell me,” he encouraged you, large palms pushing your thighs apart so he could fit the insanely broad shoulders between them.

Mind foggy with need, senses overwhelmed, you still had enough wits to understand what he wanted to hear.

“Thank you,” you breathed out.

“Damn straight.” His words were a damp hot blow of air against your mound, causing your hips to jolt as if your body was begging to be taken apart by him already – blissfully aware of how he would put it back together again.

And with an inevitable scratch to your lower lips and a kitten lick to your swollen bud for starters, Steve did.

Attached masterlist

S.R. masterlist

I sincerely apologize for twisting the prompt and not even being able to write a soft enough fic the one time I’m supposed to.

But I hope you enjoyed anyway.  I mean, if you made it to the end…

Thank you for reading :-*

Your Anika I’m-Not-a-Smut-Writer Ann

P.S. Fic loosely relates to one of the reblogs of this series: “You know one good thing about being an erotic writer is - you don’t have to talk about your embarrassing kinks. You want to tie your boyfriend up? You just email him a story about it 'subtly’ hinting at it.” Close enough?

#siris5ksoftdarkchallenge #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #professor steve rogers #LEMONS #mind the warnings #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #captain america au #college au #modern au #wrong attachment au #captain america #captain america x you #captain america x reader #attached #words whispered in the dark #anika ann

[sweeterthanthis]

Hi i saw your post for dark fics do u know any softdark?

Ooooh, I know where I’m sending you.

Go check out @stargazingfangirl18. She is the QUEEN of soft!dark.

It’s almost 5am and I can barely see straight, so maybe Siri can give us some more recs? 🖤

Others that I’m thinking off the top of my head are @ozarkthedog @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @cockslut-padalecki @river-soul @jtargaryen18 (her Mike x Reader x Andy series is 👌🏻) @drabblewithfrannybarnes @amythedvdhoarder @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @slothspaghettiwrites @gotnofucks @the-iceni-bitch @mypoisonedvine @kleohoneyao3

I’m pretty sure they all have some soft!dark fics! ✨

#lau answers #asks are always open #author recs #feel free to reblog with more!

[illumynare]

Red vs Blue Fic: I’ll Tell You My Sins and You Can Sharpen Your Knife (2/4)

Summary: Locus understands why Kimball would want to keep him alive long enough to testify at Hargrove’s trial.

He doesn’t understand why the Reds and Blues would volunteer to protect him.

Parings: None. Warnings: Canon-typical language, tons of drippy angst.

Notes: Also available on AO3!

Yes, this is now a three-chapter story. BECAUSE LOCUS ANGST IS SO MUCH FUN.

Huge thanks to @littlefists for letting me use her pancakes headcanon!

In the days that follow, Locus finds a strange sort of peace.

It's like when he walked away from the Communications Temple. He was wrapped in the same sort of hazy numbness that came with bleeding out. After so long fighting the idea that he was a monster, it was a relief to finally accept it. To know there was nothing he could do to redeem himself.

It's like that now. It's the same lesson: he's a monster, a weapon, a suit of armor and a gun. He can't be anything else.

At least now he's going to be wielded by somebody better than Felix.

#

The Reds and Blues seem to understand they have broken him. Because the way they treat him changes.

It starts the morning after his nightmare. After Agent Washington releases him, Locus slinks back to his room, ashamed of his outburst. He wonders if he'll be told to sleep outside the base, where he can't disturb them. It would only be fair.

But at 7:02 AM, Caboose pounds on his door. When Locus staggers, bleary-eyed, to open it, Caboose grabs him by the arm and says, "IT IS TIME FOR BREAKFAST."

Too dazed to protest, Locus lets himself be dragged into the kitchen, where Tucker is making pancakes and Agent Carolina is frying bacon. Agent Washington is staring at the coffee pot as it bubbles, while Simmons carefully chops a pineapple into perfect squares, and Grif steals pieces.

Locus knows that the two teams have breakfast together regularly. He's never dared intrude before. But now Caboose shoves him into a chair, Tucker sets a plate of pancakes in front of him, and Agent Washington wordlessly pours a giant puddle of maple syrup onto the pancakes.

"Aw, man, did you have to ruin them?" Tucker grumbles.

"They're better that way," says Agent Washington.

"Who wants to share some whipped cream?" Donut calls from the pantry, and Simmons shrieks, "Donut! NO!"

Locus doesn't see the scuffle that ensues. He's eating the pancakes slowly, bite by bite. They're soft and fluffy, tangy with buttermilk and sweet with syrup. He hasn't had pancakes like this—or generous puddles of syrup like this—since before the army, before he was Locus, before—

Everything.

Later that day, Tucker—for the first time—demands to spar with him.

"Lemme see if you know how to do anything with that sword," he says. "Bow-chicka-bow-wow."

Locus stares at him, not sure what the final exclamation means.

"Ugh, you're so boring," says Tucker, and with a flick of his wrist, the glowing blade shimmers into being. "Let's do this."

Tucker is better than Locus expected. This is not saying much, and Locus soon disarms him. What's really a surprise, though, is that though Tucker whines and grumbles, he doesn't give up. He listens while Locus demonstrates the techniques he learned from the Sangheili who trained him, the movements he worked out for himself while trying to defend that colony of refugees.

Tucker listens, and he tries, and Locus is surprised at how quickly he learns.

"Heh, I guess you're not too bad at this," says Tucker, when they finally stop for a break.

Again, Locus stares at him. Because there's no malice in the words, no backhanded reminder that Tucker is better, more whole—

as Felix would have reminded him, always DID remind him

—even though it's true. Locus may be better at fighting with the sword, may have learned from the Sangheili how to wield it, but Tucker is the one who deserves it.

Tucker is the one who became a hero, and Locus is ashamed that while he was on his quest, he had started to think that he could be one too.

The strange kindness doesn't stop there. The next day, Donut reproaches him about his pores and demands to give him a facial. The thought of letting anyone touch his face like that make Locus feel sick, but he has no more right to refuse anything.

"Very well," he says.

Donut's fingers are surprisingly strong and gentle as he exfoliates Locus's face and then rubs lotion into it, thumbs pressing against his cheekbones as he works the youth-enhancing, spot-removing seaweed gel into Locus's skin.

"The first rule of facial scars is that you always moisturize," says Donut, and Locus—holding himself tense and still in the chair through sheer willpower—feels a strange fluttering in his chest.

Nobody has ever talked about his scar this way before: as it was normal. As if he hadn't ever been tied down and screaming while an Elite cut the pattern of his helmet into his face, as if he hadn't woken up after being rescued and known that he was—

broken, a weapon, a suit of armor and a gun

—forever marked by the war.

Donut is marked too. Locus hasn't asked what caused the spiderweb scar on his face, the drooping eyelid and ragged ear, but he'd guess it was a close encounter with a grenade.

Marked, but not broken.

The pressure on his face is no longer so alarming. Locus shuts his eyes, and doesn't protest when Donut finishes with his face and immediately moves to massaging his shoulders. The contact is strange and frightening and more than he deserves, but it's also comforting. Locus relaxes, and for once he doesn't think of Felix as he hums in contentment, as Donut laughs and says, "See, I knew my fingers could get you moaning."

And then, the next day.

The next day, Locus is sitting alone on the couch in the rec room when Agent Washington walks in.

At once, Locus gets up to leave. Ever since arriving, he's tried to avoid him; he knows his presence can't be welcome to the man he stalked and nearly killed. The cautious glances that Agent Washington gave him proved it.

"Uh, don't go," says Agent Washington, and Locus freezes.

It's the first direct order he's been given.

He sits back down. He feels the couch shift as Agent Washington sits down beside him, but he doesn't dare look up at him and meet his eyes.

He can't stop remembering the way he whimpered and shook like a frightened animal. The soothing pressure of Agent Washington's hands on his shoulders, and he hates the impulse that made him leave his room without armor this morning. He doesn't want anyone to see his face right now.

"So, uh." Agent Washington shifts awkwardly. "You sleeping okay?"

"Acceptably," says Locus, wishing he could flee the room.

He'd had another nightmare the night before, but it was just the normal kind: blood and the faces of his victims. He didn't scream when he woke, and he went back to sleep eventually.

There's another pause. Then he hears movement, and he tenses reflexively—

Agent Washington's hand presses against the back of his neck.

For a second, Locus can't breathe. This doesn't make sense. The pressure is too warm, too gentle, too kind. It's not necessary. He wasn't screaming, he doesn't need comfort—and he certainly doesn't deserve it.

But Agent Washington doesn't move his hand.

Locus reminds himself: this isn't real. Of course he doesn't deserve to be treated kindly. But none of the kindnesses shown him over the last few days have been real.

The Reds and Blues are better than Felix, are going to use him for better purposes, but they are still going to use him.

That's the only thing you can do with a weapon.

The thought should be a comfort. It certainly makes Locus feel less confused; it calms the panic that made him want to flee, and his shoulders finally relax.

But there's still a sick feeling at the pit of his stomach. Because this firm, relentless kindness that is not quite kindness—it's very familiar.

In the days after he killed the alien, his CO started calling him Locus. The whole team followed suit, calling him nothing but Locus, hey Locus, and the nickname hurt—but less each time he heard it, and sometimes there was a camaraderie that wasn't there before, as the other soldiers slapped his shoulders and compared kill-counts. They loathed his cowardice in wanting to spare the alien, but he had proved himself one of them when he killed it.

After he and Felix split from Siris—after they took their first mercenary contract—after they accepted Hargrove's offer—all those times, Felix was different with Locus. Not kind. But he rolled his eyes less, used the word broken less. He was more inclined to brush up against Locus, lean against Locus, heave a sigh and put a hand on his shoulder. Because Locus had proved himself. Had obeyed. Had chosen Felix.

It's like that now.

Locus chose the Reds and Blues, he obeyed them, and so they are rewarding him.

Those are the rules for taming a wild animal: a lure and then a reward for every act of obedience.

Some part of him still wishes that he could have been more. Could have been human. But Locus knows he has to live with his choices.

He closes his eyes and promises himself that when they give him orders, he will be ready.

#

But a week passes, and there are no orders.

None that really mean anything. Carolina says, "Spar with me," and he walks away with several bruises and an even greater respect for her. Caboose says, "I made you cookies," and Locus dutifully chokes down the charred lumps until Agent Washington storms into the kitchen and tells him to stop. Tucker says, "Hey, check these new photos," and Locus sits for an hour, wearily agreeing that every one of Tucker's children is "fucking awesome."

They don't need Locus for such trivialities. They must mean to use him for another purpose. And now their kindness is starting to make Locus feel an overwhelming dread.

Because they can't possibly be rewarding him any longer. He's definitely done nothing to earn this treatment. They can't be just waiting to use him after the trial. They have to know that once he's given testimony, he'll most likely be executed.

They must be preparing him. They must be trying to ensure that he is loyal enough, dependent enough, to do whatever they ask.

And what might they be planning to ask if they think he needs this much preparation?

One night, as he cleans Red Team's guns, Sarge grins at him and says, "Say, you ever think about how easy it would be to accidentally fire one of those at Grif while you're cleaning it?"

Locus freezes. Because there could be no accident: he's always careful to unload the guns before he cleans them. So what Sarge is suggesting, is maybe ordering—

hey I'm orange just like your last partner

—and he can't do this, Locus thinks numbly, he promised himself he would be obedient but Grif was the first and maybe only one of them to trust him, he can't do this.

He can't refuse either. He can't make himself say the words, question the order. He can't do anything.

For a few endless moments, Locus just stares at Sarge and thinks, no, no, please no.

Then Grif yells from the other room, "I HEARD THAT," and ambles in with a six-pack of beer, looking completely unconcerned.

"Hey, you want one?" he asks, holding out a can.

And Locus finally remembers that when he was pretending to work for the Federal Army, he'd heard Sarge say many times that he was going to shoot Grif as soon as he got him back, and he hoped those terrorist bastards didn't manage to kill him first.

It was a joke, Locus realizes, and the relief is so overwhelming that it takes him several moments to realize that Grif is still holding the can of beer in his face.

It was a joke. But there will come a command that isn't.

That evening, Locus can't sleep. He keeps remembering all the people he killed, and it was easy then to pull the trigger, swing the knife, but now the memories make his hands shake.

A long time ago, he thought that killing made him one of "the good guys." Then he thought it made him a soldier. Now he knows that it makes him a monster.

Locus will kill for the Reds and Blues. He knows this. He doesn't have it in him to refuse them. And he owes it to them, surely, to at least be a useful monster.

He still doesn't want to.

He wishes they would tell him what he's going to do, exactly what kind of monster he'll have to be. The wait is tearing his mind apart. He's never felt dread like this before—

Except he has, when Hargrove started hinting about a "delicate political situation." There was a moment, before Hargrove completely explained what their contract entailed, when Locus felt a sudden surge of dread. He'd already done all kinds of mercenary work, killed many people who didn't really deserve it, but there were still some lines he hadn't crossed.

Deep down, Locus had realized that Hargrove was going to ask him to cross those final lines. But he'd looked to Felix for reassurance, and Felix had nudged him and grinned and then said to Hargrove, "Yeah, we're interested."

Locus had snuffed out that last flicker of his conscience quickly enough. But it had been real. And it was the same dread he's feeling now: the fear of what will I become?

He presses his palms over his eyes.

It's not like that. The Reds and Blues are different, better, and whatever they ask him to do—even if it's horrible—will be right.

But he knows exactly what Felix would say if he were here:

It's exactly like that, partner. Everybody's got an agenda. And everybody needs a weapon. Good thing you've got that freaky obsession with orders, huh?

"I'm trying to do the right thing," Locus mutters.

Yeah, funny how for you the right thing is always doing what somebody says.

It's true. Locus can't deny it.

But back on Chorus, Agent Washington told Locus he was a monster. Whatever he's planning to make Locus do now, it has to be better somehow than the orders Hargrove gave him.

Locus clings to that thought through the following week, even as sleep becomes rare and he starts flinching whenever anyone says his name.He's tries to hide it, but the Reds and Blues notice anyway.

That has to be why they're suddenly always around him, always talking to him, always touching him. They see that he's afraid to follow orders, and they're trying to make sure of him. It's driving him mad, and just when he thinks he can't stand it anymore, Agent Carolina drags him away from the others, to the little hill outside their base.

"Take some time alone," she says. "You probably need it."

She turns her back on him, moving to guard his position. Locus stares at the back of her helmet and thinks that she's found a way to make even isolation a kindness. And he's grateful.

That evening there's another movie night, and this time Locus sits on the couch, Caboose on one side of him, Grif on the other. Locus sits rigidly between them, not eating the popcorn, not even trying to watch the screen.

He tells himself, again and again, that these people are not Hargrove. They are not Felix. He has to trust in them.

That has to be enough.

But it turns out all his fear was pointless. When he draws his sword and kills people a few days later, it's not because anyone gave him a direct order.

It's because Charon finally finds them.

#rvb #rvb fic #samuel ortez #rvb locus #locus #red vs blue #my fic: i'll tell you my sins #my fic

[capseycartwright]

whats your favourite robron fic?

i am going to pretend this said fics, and not fic. tbh, we have a supremely talented fandom and there is so much great #content out there, but these fics are my go to, read over and over again fics!

ice swans and dry-cleaning by @persiflager is just the most amazing fic. it’s hilarious and amazing and i must have read it about fifty times, at this point (mostly when i’m sad in work, ngl.)

surprise surprise is the most gorgeously romantic and sexy fic and i’ll never send it anyway literally broke me as a human being, so wildly different but both amazing. @wellyfullofale is ridiculously talented. 

have i told you lately (aaron being all soft and complimenting robert, bless) and til the stars go blue (the most heartbreaking and wonderfully hopeful fic about the aftermath of robert having a breakdown) are both by @vckaarrob and like. i know i say it all the time but im obsessed with vic. 

side effects may include is the most amazing fic about robert going on antidepressants, and treading water literally ruined me as a person, it’s about robert’s mental health deteriorating and robert being diagnosed with bipolar and it hurts every time. its amazing! both are by @lastgoldsun and like, katie is stupidly amazing, pls read all her fic. 

i cry about a virtue of the brave by @sapphicsugden on the daily. everything siri writes is gold, but this one just resonates with me more than i have words for, i adore it. also, siri wrote my favourite fic verse ever, the deaf au, and i cannot tell you how many times i’ve reread every single fic in a different language. it’s spectacular!

iceberg by @misswhimsy is the best robert goes to counselling fic i have honestly ever read. i can’t even tell you how many times i’ve reread this absolutely incredible fic! if you’re going to read one fic about robert and mental health, make it this one, pls.

grounded by @beautifulhigh is insanely good. it’s one of those fics i had to read like, four times before i even really processed it. i mean, jen is ridiculously talented and way too good at breaking by heart anyway, but grounded is special. i read it when i need a good cry!

still i call it magic by @softrobertsugden is the hogwarts au of my DREAMS. i’m not trying to be funny, but i’d probably sell my soul if it meant i could have some more of this ‘verse. its just incredible - and magical (ha.) so but seriously its the best thing!!

i’m in awe of how insanely talented @littlelooneyluna is, honestly. every fic nicole has ever written has been #unreal, but please don’t take my sunshine away had me in floods of tears. post natal depression is not an easy thing to write about and nicole just smashed it, as per. 

anyways i read a lot of fic and i bookmark lots of amaze ones here, and my fic rec tag is here, but those are some of my favs!

#in which i ramble #asks #anonymous #fic rec