#rvb fiction

[agent-grey-nevada]

The first chapter of my college AU for red vs blue is finished!!!

I’m so excited to finally start this journey that I’ve been sitting on for three years. This chapter contains Sarge, Grif, Simmons and Lopez, and has no trigger/content warnings.

If you want to keep up to date about when chapters go live, follow me here or join my RvB discord!

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[agent-grey-nevada]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Locus just wanted ONE night to himself, but it had to be his 21st birthday and Felix isn’t going to let that slip by. 

[whimsical-writer]

Relaxed

Wash was always on edge.

It was something he rarely noticed though the people around him did. If someone banged a door open, Wash didn’t so much as jump as prepare for it. Muscles tensing further, a hand reaching for a gun that may or may not be strapped to his hip, his eyes tracking the sound. Once identified as not dangerous, he’d relaxed… Except that his hand would still finger around his hips and his eyes would dart back and forth.

The others commented on it. Tucker and Grif would have some scathing, though secretly caring because that’s how they were, words about how jumpy he was. Simmons was usually more gentle about it unless Grif had goaded him into a bad mood. Donut offered massages which Wash turned down increasingly impolite the more Donut suggested it. Even Sarge had commented on it once or twice. Wash took it mostly in stride. They could be assholes about it but they were his asshole family and even assholes looked after their family. In their own, unique way.

He’d usually search for tension in his body after it was pointed out to him. Unclenching his teeth or fist, letting out a breath, eye rolling, and settling back into wherever he was sitting. But he’d still be tense somewhere else. Maybe his off hand was still clenching and unclenching. Maybe his foot would be twitching or his leg would bounce. It was almost impossible for him to relax completely. The others were convinced he couldn’t relax at all.

Not true.

It was almost 4 in the morning. He was having trouble sleeping, not unusual for him, and rather than tossing and turning in his bed until the sun rose Wash slipped on a shirt and sweats and wandered outside.

It was dark and raining ever so slightly. The lip of the base kept the rain off him except for the occasional breeze that would send cool drops over his face and arms. He could just make out some of the lights of Red Base across the canyon. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His muscles felt loose, his face soft, and his lips where parted. Every breath was slow and deep and his mind was quiet and still.

Wash may not have noticed all the times he was on edge but he could always recognize and remember all the times he was well and truly relaxed.

Have some quick fiction from 4AM Heza. I’m a little inspire by how I’m feeling right now and my own environment. Enjoy!

[nark--mutt]

Send me some prompts guys!

I need some things to write, so y’all should send me some ideas! Either readers, m/f, f/f, m/m, go for it!

Rooster teeth

RWBY

RVB

Homestuck

Steven Universe (I’m willing to give it a try!)

[chezzkaa]

Just ask - Tucker x Reader

Hello! Still working my way through the slurry of RVB prompts, so have a Tucker x Reader that was suggested to me by an Anon. 

Also...

SUCK IT REDS

WC: 1706 WARNING: SMUT

SUMMARY: Tucker isn't the easiest one to live around, with all his sexual jokes, you find yourself going ever frustrated at him; and increasingly attracted. 

You swear; if you hear those words again, you’d really give him something to ‘bow chicka bow wow’ about. With each obscene joke and overly sexualised gesture; you can feel yourself becoming more and more irritable. The frustration is mounting, not because of what some would see as harassment, but because of the longing in the pit of your stomach with every uttered word.

You can’t see him not knowing, not realising what he does to you; you’re too aware that your blushing gives you away. As a soldier, you never normally let your feelings get in the way, but you’re times with the blues had softened the hard shell you formed through the freelancer project; and as a human you know that the emotions won’t just go away.

The base is quiet as you wander the halls, nothing on but the bottoms of your armour that hugs your legs like jeans and a tank top. The fresh air that gently moves through your hair is calming, though it cannot repress the sudden rise in heat when you turn a corner to see Ticker, lounging against a wall as he speaks with Church. “All I’m saying is that we need some form of entertainment around here” his voice echoes, and you stop; watching the pair. Church pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh for god sakes, Tucker; we’re in the middle of a box canyon; what do you think I can do?” He shrugs, motioning to the leader. “I dunno man, can’t you just; call command or something?” Church grumbles, “Oh yeah, cus I’m just gonna call up and ask them to send a bouncy castle into this fucking place.” Tucker’s eyes light up, their deep brown gleaming.

You walk forward with a smile, standing next to them both. “He’s kidding, Tucker.” You say, noticing his eyes grow wide with shock as he looks at you. You suppose your attire has confused him, having never seen you with half your armour on. He lets out a faint whistle, but you ignore him; turning to Church. “Caboose is stuck again” you say, pointing to the landscape. He lets out another sigh, aggressively throwing his hands in the air. “God damn it, where about’s now?” he heads towards the door as you call a location to him; being left with Tucker.

“Just dying to be alone with me, huh?” he jokes, holding his hand out and admiring it with a smirk. “Should have guessed.” You roll your eyes at his remark; turning to leave the way you had arrived, hearing him chuckling from behind you. “Oh c’mon, help me out here, Y/N” you grit your teeth, and ball your fists, coming to a stop and turning back to him. “With what?”    “We’ve got to convince Church to let us have some entertainment here.” Making a face, you consider your options; risking being around Tucker may lead to you being unable to control yourself, and this was something you struggle to come to terms with.

“Tucker, I don’t think you’ll get anywhere on this. Just give up, will you? I’m not gonna help.” He chuckles again, “You’re a hard one, aren’t you?”, and you feel your stomach drop in frustration.    “I’ll give you a hard one” you mumble, beginning to walk again. He booms with laughter, picking up on the phrasing he thinks you haven’t intended. “Bow chicka bow –“ his call is cut off as you slam into him, your hands pushing hard against his shoulders; backing him against a wall as you glare. His surprise is obvious, his dreadlocks falling free of their position atop his head, swinging freely. You can feel his body burning against your palms, and you desperately try to ignore it, your eyes narrowing.

“Shut the fuck up, Tucker” you growl, “Jesus, all those stupid pick up lines and little tricks; why don’t you just ask me?” You words aren’t what he expects, his dark skin warming red across his cheeks.    “I...” he flusters, but you require little strength in holding him in place. Training as a Freelancer has offered you a strength and durability that many lack. “Tucker” you smile coyly, enjoying as he squirms, your roles reversed. “Didn’t I just tell you to shut up?” you lean in to him, standing on your tiptoes, lightly brushing your lips against his. Pulling back, you smile delicately, letting him go and moving away. His face falls, looking disappointed and stung by the space between you; but you do not leave.

“Well?” you prompt, placing your hands on your hips, watching him reach and touch his lips incredulously. “Well, what?” he repeats, stunned. You shake your head in amusement.    “If you’re not gonna ask, I guess I’ll see you around, Tucker.” You wave, and begin to make your way towards the door. He stops you, grabbing your wrist and holding it carefully. You glance at him, face cool yet heart thumping loud enough to fill your ears. “Please?”. You laugh, repositioning so that you hold his hand, guiding him back to your section of the base. Surprisingly, the building had been set up for both males and females to reside in different wings to one another; so you know that interruptions will be rare.  He follows willingly, impatient with your deliberately slow and teasing pace.

“Oh, c’mon” he complains, before ducking and scooping you up into his arms, running down the hallways. “Impatient there, Tucker?” you joke, but he grimace.    “Don’t tease me, Y/N. We both need this!” he shuts the door to your bedroom, loosening his grip as so to release you. With different ideas, you wrap your arms around his neck, swinging effortlessly, chest pressed against him and legs hooked around his waist. “That’s some upper body strength” he breathes, holding you around the waist. You laugh, playing with his hair, “You don’t even know the half of it”, before kissing him deeply.

The passion within the both of you begins to roar, the desperation to be closer to each other, to be pressed harder against each other’s body overwhelming. Throwing caution into the wind, he pressed you against one of your walls, one of the many trailing rails above your head within your reach. Stretching up, you grasp onto it, holding yourself up, pulling your legs in and placing your feet square on his chest; giving him a powerful push. Toppling, he falls to the bed, and you leap beside him, straddling him as his hands roam. “Jesus, going right to the mount, huh?” you smirk, kissing along his jaw line, finding the clasp that holds his armour together; quickly releasing it so that you can slide the large plates aside, clattering them to the floor.

“Are you going to be beating me up this whole time?” he asks huskily as you nip at the skin on his neck, causing him to ache his body trying to reach you. “Maybe...” you tease, sitting up and pulling your singlet up over your head, revealing your breasts. He grins suddenly, rocketing up and knocking you back, only supporting you with a hand around your waist. As you dangle, you feel his mouth work across your nipple, tongue rolling as he kisses and sucks. You let out a faint moan, despite yourself, a smile stretching across your lips. “You know” you breathe as he massages your other breast with a thumb running circles over the sensitive skin, “for someone who doesn’t get any, you’re sure as hell good at this”. He lets out a low grumble, nipping on your nipple a little harder, causing you to break into a louder moan.

“Now, that’s just not nice,” he says, returning to your hungry lips, letting you sit back up. You shrug your shoulders, holding him to you, one hand stroking across his stomach and lingering just above his boxer line; the armour still in place. In a swift motion, you find the clasp, unlocking them so that it hangs loose, quickly removing the protective clothing from his body so that it hands at his hips. Wanting to slide it off completely, you move to do so, but his hands stops you; quickly flipping you over so that he lies on top of you, body pressed hard against your own. “Oh no you don’t” he chuckles, finding the clasp to your bottom section of armour as quickly as you had found his, releasing you from it, masterfully tugging it from your body, tossing it behind him carelessly. Leaving you with nothing more that the black protective undergarment to cover your legs, you wrap them around him, stroking his dark chest.

“Armour really isn’t the best thing for this” you comment lightly, and he laughs, kissing your collar bones, leading a trail down your chest and across your stomach, stopping above your hips. “Sure as hell make you look sexy though”, he replies, pulling off the remainder of the clothing, kissing your knees and inner thighs as he does so. You feel the passion in side of you rage as he touches you, craving more, craving for him inside of you. The need to feel him, to have him begins to rule you, and you pull yourself up, pressing him down with strength, tugging away his armour almost viciously, leaving him naked. Surprised, though pleasantly, you take hold of him, carefully moving him to your entrance; lowering. He fills you quickly, causing you to let out a soft moan to mirror his, bobbing on his slowly, working carefully to tease him. His begins to grow frustrated, and you throw caution to the wind as he throws you onto your back, re-entering you and beginning to pump; hard.

You can hear yourself calling for him, cussing his name and pulling at his hair; dragging your finger nails into his back. He breathing comes quicker as you orgasm, the release inside of you monumental and extreme. The sound of your pleasure pushes him to his limits, and he shudders and groans, looking down at you with his eyes half closed. “Jesus, Y/N” He breathes, and you smile happily, finally at peace. “If I knew all I had to do was ask, we could’ve done that a long time ago.” 

[volcanicexpression-blog]

Maine.

"No, he's too unpredictable." Carolina leaned against the back wall, arms crossed over her chest, looking from 479er to the observation window overlooking the small interview chamber. Interrogation room. Holding cell. Whatever name happened to fit whatever purpose it was supposed to hold for whatever moment. For now, there was only one person in there; a very large, very bruised and bloodied foot soldier, his UNSC shirt torn from a recent fight. He seemed unconcerned with his wounds, arms crossed on the table in front of him. He'd glance around periodically, at the door, at the camera, fixating on his reflection in the mirror because he knew there was someone on the other side. "He took out more then half the bar. Two deaths, countless injuries -- some of them permanent, and look at him. I keep expecting him to ask how the weather is." Carolina shook her head. "I'm not disputing his strength or endurance, yes, he has that in spades. It's the way he wouldn't stop when the MPs went in. Remind me, how many guys did it take to subdue him?" "I seem to remember something about needing multiple tasers." 479 grumbled. "I don't want him on my team. If the Project must have him, assign him to Montana's unit; he, at least might, be able to match him in strength and bullheadedness." At that moment, the door to the observation room opened and the Director strode in, hands clasped behind his back, the Counselor following behind with his datapad in hand. "Ladies."    "Sir." Both Carolina and 479 had snapped to salute before their superior had ever crossed the threshold, and didn't lower it until he'd given them a small nod. The Counselor was busy entering data, glancing in at the soldier, back at the pad, and then curious glances up at the pilot and the agent as the Director continued. "I hear you're not satisfied with the newest recruit?"    "Sir. I have some questions regarding his ability to follow orders." "I hope you'll keep a record of them as he goes through his basic training. At the end, if he hasn't answered them sufficiently, I will hear them out." Carolina stiffened for a moment, but 479 knew the other woman wasn't about to argue against the Director. The formal, crisp, "Very well, Sir." was nothing less then what she'd come to accept from the top agent. "We'll get him mopped up and in a base suit tonight. He'll be yours tomorrow at 0400. Dismissed." The women gave him a final salute, and then filed out of the room. While Carolina headed off to the training room, no doubt where she would vent her frustrations and mull over serious questions against a training dummy (or whatever live dummy happened to be near enough to be roped into a sparring session with her), 479er wasn't finished with the new recruit yet. Pilot, Recruiter, Handler. She was versatile in her assignments with the Project. She'd been the one looking into this brute, and when someone had smashed a bottle over his head and he returned it by smashing that person's head into the counter, she figured he'd be a good fit for their little family. She took out her own data pad and queued up a list of the United States. There were checkboxes by all, some of them blank as had yet been unassigned, the rest greyed out with a little green checkmark. Only one was full out blocked with a red X. Texas. Reserved. The soldier leaned back and looked at her as she entered, fully armored but at ease. There was just a very faint recognition, as he'd only seen her when he was finally slipping into unconsciousness as she came to retrieve him after the whole brawl. "Hey there, big guy. You put on quite a show down there." She rounded the table and sat in the empty seat. There was still a sense of military professionalism in the precise nature of her movements, the the cadence of her voice and tilt of her head caused the soldier to ease somewhat. He replied with an amused little grunt. She knew from watching him that he wasn't a big fan of Words, but that he could use them when the fancy struck. "So I can give you a couple options here. My superior had to do a lot of bargaining to get you this far; the MPs wanted you locked up and scheduled for a court marshal before the dust even settled, but if you want to stay out of that, you're going to have to agree to this." She tapped a key on her datapad and slid it over to him. He looked from her to the pad, curious, and then read it. Skimmed is more like it. She could see he was looking for key bits of information, combing the terms and conditions and parameters but not reading every sentence. What it outlined was that if he agreed, he would be at the sole discretion of the Director of Project Freelancer and the top ranking Agent of whatever unit he was assigned. He'd be fed three square meals a day, be given shared quarters, given clothing, weapons, and training to aid the war. He would no longer be in the army. His actions were grounds for dishonorable discharge, but in agreement to the contract he was looking at, he'd be declared dead and spared the shame. If he declined the contract, he'd be given over to the MPs, and all that that implied. He set the datapad down and looked at her, locking his eyes on the visor with a particular intensity that unnerved 479. She was in full armor, and the Director and Counselor were watching, and there were armed guards just outside the door. She couldn't help thinking back to the bar fight and seeing how instinctively and brutally he'd reacted, that he'd been a force to reckon with even before he'd enlisted, and they'd given him the training he needed to make killing things second nature. She had speed, but he had everything else. "They'll let me kill things?" "The right things. As many as you want. Scores. Hundreds. Too many to count." Hell, take them all out, just as long as they weren't fellow agents everyone should be good. He gives a nod, slides a stylus out from its sheath on the datapad, and scrawls his name on the surface. He handed it back to 479, who tapped tapped tapped and then handed it back. It showed the list of states. "Welcome to Project Freelancer. First course of business is to choose your new name."