undercoveravenger

[undercoveravenger]

Critical Role/Vox Machina Masterlist

Vox Machina

Soulmate AU: A collection of soulmate AUs for each member of Vox Machina

[undercoveravenger]

Vox Machina Soulmate AU Preferences

Gender Neutral.

Includes Grog, Pike, Scanlan, Vax, Vex, Percy, and Keyleth

WARNINGS: (Temporary) major character death, some scattered angst

A/N: So guess who's been working on this one for three years? 😅 Text under the cut since it got hella long (18 single-spaced pages in Docs) Hopefully it was worth it. Can y'all guess my favorite character?

Grog Strongjaw - Seeing Color

There's nothing quite like the thrill of a fight - the pounding of adrenaline, your racing heart, the sweet sting of strain through your muscles, the burn of bruises forming under your skin where your opponent’s fists had struck you, and the roar of the crowd.

True, adventuring had brought you your fair share of fights when you’d been part of a party - traipsing cross-country to stop bad guys and explore and hold out hope of meeting your soulmate, but even that couldn’t compare to the fights in the Crucible. 

You’d heard tell of the infamous fighting ring when your party had passed through Vasselheim years ago, and you’d entered yourself into that night’s fights. That first fight had been enough to convince you of where you needed to be. You resigned from adventuring that night, taking the next few weeks to stake out a claim there in Vasselheim before making yourself a regular contender in the Crucible fights.

It was another such night, with your blood singing through your veins and your knuckles burning from where you’d split them across some half-orc’s jaw when your head started spinning from more than just the blows you’d taken. 

Your eyes had glanced, for the briefest of seconds, over the crowd of onlookers crowded around the brim of the pit to watch the fight, and your eyes met the bright brown ones of a Goliath standing near the front of the crowd. It took you a moment to realize that you could see the color of his eyes, not just the shades of grey that you should’ve seen there. If you could see color then that meant that this man was your soulmate-

A sharp blow to the side of your head jerked you back into the moment and the rhythm of the fight. You forced yourself to look past the rich browns of the dirt, the green skin of your opponent and the red of his blood, shaking away the overwhelming onslaught of new colors and going back to what you know.

You’re shifting your weight from foot to foot as you watch your opponent, ducking a few more of his wide swings, before finding yourself ready to end it. You planted your back foot, slipping deftly under your opponent’s arm and throwing your shoulder into his stomach, using your momentum to take you both to the ground.

You don’t allow him time to recover, planting yourself across his chest and using your leverage to rain brutal punch after brutal punch into the half-orc’s face until you see the consciousness slip from his eyes. As soon as you’re sure it’s not an act, you push away from him and to your feet. You step away, wiping a hand under your surely-broken nose and pausing only briefly at the sight of your crimson blood staining your skin.

Right, you thought, I saw my soulmate. He was gone when your eyes drifted back to where you’d seen him last and you felt a twinge of disappointment shoot through you. You shook your head, allowing yourself to be hauled up out of the pit and moving to track down the bookie to collect your earnings. 

Now with your adrenaline waning and your coin purse weighing heavier against your hip, you begin to weave your way through the crowd, nodding your thanks as people clap you on the shoulder and congratulate you. You pause as a small red flower is thrust before you, stopping short.

Your gaze trails up from the flower to the person holding it, a smile tugging at your split lip as you find grey skin and tattoos and those same sweet honey-brown eyes over a shy smile.

“You, um,” he starts, tripping over his words as he tried to find them, “You fight good.” He holds out the flower to you, and your heart squeezes a little in your chest as you realize there’s still a clod of dirt clinging to the roots. He must’ve gone off to find this for you when you hadn’t been able to spot him in the crowd. “I, uh, I dunno if you started seeing color too…?”

You nod and his smile becomes a little relieved, tension easing from his shoulders the longer he talks to you.

“I just thought,” he clears his throat and you catch the sight of an elvish man in black and a gnome in purple snickering at the two of you a little ways off. You presume these are your soulmate’s friends, laughing as he fumbles through conversation. You can’t help but find the stuttering charming. “Well, it’s not as pretty as you, even in color, but I wanted you to have something.” He pauses, seeming to only now realize he hadn’t introduced himself yet. “Grog,” he says, sticking his hand out for you to shake.

You tell him your name in exchange, and slip your hand into his. Instead of shaking it, you tug him along after you, figuring it would be good to get to know your soulmate away from the crowd and the prying eyes of his friends. He follows you eagerly.

Pike Trickfoot - Twin Heartbeats

There had always been a second heartbeat thrumming alongside yours in your chest. You’d felt it speed up before when your soulmate was overcome with adrenaline, but for the most part it was always steady and slow and soothing - even now, with your own slowing to a stop.

You’d been passing through Whitestone with your adventuring party when you’d been set upon by a group of vampire spawn who were less than pleased by your arrival. 

You were able to help down the first few of the spawn before one snuck up behind you and put a knife through you. Your friends had called out for you but you knew they were too far away to get to you in time, especially with the remaining vampires blocking them. 

There’s a grating sound from behind you, like a heavy door opening, and more people shouting as they enter the room. There’s a blast, a bit like the sound of a cannon firing, and the ground rumbles as someone large barrels past you, an enraged shout escaping them as they charge the vampires.

Blood is soaking your armor around the blade of the dagger plunged through your ribs but you can’t seem to focus on the spreading warmth or the clash of fighting around you. You can feel your soulmate’s heart spike sharply even as your own pulse weakens, and a few seconds later someone drops to their knees at your side. They press one hand over your wound and two fingers to the side of your throat to feel for a pulse.

“Shit,” they curse as they recognize the weakness of your pulse against their fingertips. “Not like this, not like this.” They say, and you cringe as they rip the dagger out of you, warm hands putting pressure against your wound. “We were supposed to meet somewhere nice. A tavern or a festival or something, not with you dying.”

You’re confused. This person is talking to you like they know you but you don’t recognize their voice. Unless…? Oh, you realize belatedly, head still muddied by the blood loss, They must be your soulmate. 

You fight to open your eyes, taking in snowy white hair and pretty blue eyes and a concerned frown and you didn’t want to die before but now you really don’t because your soulmate is adorable and you can’t stand the thought of dying without getting to know her. 

“Hi,” you croak, forcing yourself to smile. 

A stunned half-laugh escapes her and she looks almost on the verge of tears as she presses her hands firmly over your stab wound.

“Hi,” she says back, eyes and hands beginning to glow with a brilliant golden light. It’s warm, like sunlight. “I’m not letting you die before I get to know you.”

You nod, agreeing like you have a say in the matter. For her, you’d figure out a way around death.

The pressure against your wound remains steady and you can feel the skin and muscle knitting back together under her fingers. Slowly, your heartbeat steadies, evening out to match hers, and you force yourself upright as she finishes healing you, catching sight of the ongoing brawl where her party is helping yours turn the tides against the vampires. You look back to her, eyes bright with challenge, “Most vampire kills decides where I take you for our first date?”

She grins, grip tightening around the handle of her mace as she charges in ahead of you. “You’re on!” she calls back over her shoulder.

You can’t help but smile as you follow her, heart beating in tune with hers, and know that you’d be happy to follow her anywhere.

Scanlan Shorthalt - Shared Melodies

Music had always been a part of your life. From the time you were little you’d had tunes and the starts of songs echoing through your mind. Of course, few of them had been your own - most of the songs had been in another’s voice. Your soulmate’s voice. 

As you’d grown, so had your soulmate - the high playful voice of childhood deepening into a grown man’s tenor, soft and slightly raspy with years of experience. With the frequency of some of his songs, you’d come to figure he was a performer of some sort - likely a traveling bard. You’d learned some of his favorites through the years and couldn’t help but wonder over the stories that had shaped them, about what he’d felt and thought and lived through to make his songs what they had become.

You had often wondered what your soulmate looked like, if his features were soft like his tone or more defined like the way the lyrics rolled from his lips. You wondered if he would be your height or taller or shorter. You knew you didn’t really care about his looks though, not when his songs had given you insight into the type of person he was. You didn’t have to have seen him to know that you would love him. 

It had been weeks since the last time you’d heard your soulmate’s singing playing through your mind with a chorus of other instruments to back him up, so you knew that he was likely traveling again. 

This same knowledge made it hard to care about something so trivial as going to work when for all you knew your soulmate could be in danger, though you knew your town’s little tavern would not open without you there to run it. With that same knowledge, you forced yourself to unlock and throw wide the doors of the establishment. 

You’d scarcely taken your place behind the bar when your first group of patrons filed in, a rather motley crew of half-elves, a Goliath, a human, and a pair of gnomes. They quickly claimed one of the large corner booths and the dark-haired half-elf woman came over to haggle for drinks. You stood your ground and finally she relented, paying full price and returning to her table laden with drinks. 

It was still early so business remained slow, only a few of your regulars trickling in to take their usual seats at the bar. You’d fallen into your usual rhythm of serving drinks and taking payments when the music started. You could recognize the opening notes of one of your soulmate’s favorites, though it was louder now than it usually seemed. It wasn’t until you realized that you were hearing a slight echo of your soulmate’s voice that you looked up, your words cutting out from where you’d been speaking to a patron as your gaze darted up to the small stage at the other end of the tavern, where one of the gnomes from the party from earlier had taken up, singing and playing his lyre like it was more natural to him than breathing. 

You were transfixed, unable to look away from this man who was apparently your soulmate. A smile tugged at your lips as you realized you’d been right - while it was nice to be able to put a face to the voice, it wouldn’t have mattered what he looked like. You’d have loved him either way. 

When his song trailed to an end, you waved him over to the bar. He took one of the empty seats without argument, though the free drink you slid him seemed to be a surprise. 

“Enjoyed my performance that much, eh?” he grinned at you, winking when he caught your eye. 

You returned the smile easily, wiping at a stubborn spot on the bar a bit to the side of him. “Figured it would be a good start to pay you back for all the free performances I’ve gotten over the years,” you said, a slight chuckle escaping you at the baffled look on his face. “You’ve been working on that one a while, yeah? I think you picked up the melody a year or two ago, right? And you’ve been working on the lyrics since.” He’s speechless so you press on, “I think I liked the verse about the girl with the violets in her hair better than the new chorus though.”

That seems to get his attention. “I- I never performed that version,” he says quietly, his confident charade faltering for the first time since he stepped foot in your bar. “How do you know it?”

“You never performed it publicly,” you corrected, tapping a finger to the side of your head gently, “Doesn’t mean you didn’t have an audience.”

His performer smile fades as a smaller one takes its place, less show-stopping but so much more real that it almost makes your heart stop. “Maybe you’d like a private show later then?” A bright blush creeps up on him and you can tell that he’s having trouble keeping up the playboy facade when faced by meeting his soulmate. He scrambles to correct himself, “Not for that - well, unless you wanted to - but I’ve got the starts of about a million songs about you that I want to play for you. I mean, they’re not really done yet because it was hard to write something about your soulmate without really knowing them but-”

You lean forward and kiss him to interrupt his rambling. “I’d love to,” you say, ignoring the excited whoops from his friends at their booth. And you really would, happy to hear any tune your soulmate may wish to play, more than happy just to spend time with him.

Vax'ildan Vessar - Prophetic Dreams

You are no stranger to prophetic dreams. You’d seen visions of yourself standing beside the other members of Vox Machina long before you’d met them, witnessed the atrocities of the Briarwoods before they came to Emon, seen the dark figure guiding Percy’s actions before it exposed itself, and had even been able to see the light returning to Whitestone before the vampires’ defeat. But this- you’d never had a vision quite like this.

Some of your visions are peaceful, sure, but they have never made you feel quite so safe as your current dream does, with the soft light of dawn spilling through the window of your bedroom back at Vox Machina’s keep, dusting gently over the figure lying beside you in your bed. You watched as they shifted, long dark hair parting easily around the elegant point of an elvish ear and spilling in waves across their pillow. The blankets had slipped low along their side, the smooth pale skin of their neck and shoulder exposed to the chill morning air. You watch them sleep for a few moments, enjoying the peace that their presence brought you, before they shift, seemingly about to turn toward you. In the second before you would be able to see your companion’s face, you were jolted back to wakefulness.

“Shit,” you mumble, sucking in a harsh breath as you come face-to-snout with a massive grizzly bear. Your racing heart settles only slightly when the bear lets out a pleased grumble and noses at your cheek. “Good morning to you too, Trinket.” With your greeting, the massive bear rises back to his paws and lumbers back to the open door to your chambers and out into the hallway, presumably off to find Vex.

You begin to push yourself into a seated position when the thought reminds you of your dream. With the elvish features and dark hair, it’s entirely possible that the figure in your dream could have been Vex’ahlia, one of your companions. You’d heard of people being blessed with dreams of their soulmates, but would have never guessed yourself to be among them, let alone for your soulmate to have been someone you’ve already met.

You find yourself dressing in somewhat of a daze as you think, only snapping back to sharp focus as you enter the vast dining room of the keep, the rest of the party already sitting down to breakfast. 

“Good morning everyone,” your eyes dart sheepishly toward Vex as you take your usual seat at the far end of the table beside Vax. She’s seated beside Percy, chin perched elegantly on her hand as she watches him speak.

“Nice of you to join us, sleepyhead,” Vax teases, shoving at your shoulder playfully.

You manage to drag your eyes away from his sister in order to swat his hand back, though you can’t fight the slight upward tug at your lips. Vax had always been able to make you smile, even through your worst days. You’re friends with the rest of Vox Machina of course, but you and Vax had always been closer than the rest.

“Whatever,” you huff, digging into the breakfast that the servants had laid out for all of you. You can’t help shooting a couple of glances in Vex’s direction now and then, but you try to do it surreptitiously enough so the others don’t notice.

Vax nudges you again, dark eyes fixed on you intently when you finally turn to look at him, “There a reason you keep eyeing my sister like that?” he prompts softly, voice lowered enough to avoid attention from the rest of the party.

You shrug, keeping your eyes trained firmly on your breakfast, but you could feel the treacherous heat of a blush warming your face as he studies you. “Had a weird dream last night. Can’t get my mind off it.”

“If you had a sex dream about my sister, I certainly don’t want details.” Vax’s face twists in mock disgust as he looks at you, “And I certainly wouldn’t talk about it around everyone, if Vex doesn’t kill you herself, Percy certainly will.”

Your gaze snaps up to meet his and you scramble to protest, “That’s not- it wasn’t like that!” You clear your throat as the rest of the group looks over at your exclamation, “Sorry,” you say, waving them off. “What do you mean?” you continue once everyone resumes their previous conversations, “Why would Percy be mad?”

Vax makes a face, wincing like he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to. “They, uh, they don’t want to tell everyone just yet, but they’re engaged.”

You can’t even form words in response, thoughts derailing at your best friend’s admission. Admittedly, you hadn’t given Vex much thought romantically before today, but after your dream you’d been sure that she was your soulmate. A future that you could count on, but now that Vax had told you she and Percy were involved- 

You push your seat back from the table, mumbling a quiet “Lost my appetite” as an excuse and quickly ducking out of the room. 

You move without thinking of the destination, feet carrying you down the hallway and up the stairwells until you reach the top of your favorite tower. You step out onto the balcony, sitting down on the edge of the platform and letting your legs hang over into the open air as you stare out over the horizon.

The scuff of a boot on stone alerts you to his presence before he even speaks, though you have the suspicion that it was more for your benefit than of an oversight on Vax’s part. He’d always been too stealthy for your well being. 

“Care to tell me what caused that reaction?” he says softly as he sits beside you, pulling a small dagger from its sheath and flipping it idly between his fingers.

You sigh, fingers clenching into fists where they rested against your thighs. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“From you? Certainly not,” he reassures you, bumping you lightly with his shoulder. “If there’s something upsetting you, there’s reason for you to be upset. You’re not one to make a big deal out of nothing. If you want someone to listen, you know I’m here for you.”

A deep breath whooshes out of you as you try to convince yourself to start talking. Eventually you force yourself to begin, “I think I had a dream about my soulmate last night.”

Vax’s hand falters and the blade slips through his fingers, plummeting through the air and streaking toward the ground, only to reappear at his belt seconds later. “Is that so?” he says after a long moment, voice strained and tight in a way you’d only heard before when he’d been injured. “Did you- did you think my sister was your soulmate?”

You shrug, unable to meet his eyes. “It was a pretty valid guess with what I saw.”

Vax hums, hands stilling on the hilt of his blade, “I’ve had dreams about my soulmate as well. Do you care to know what I saw in mine?” He waits for you to nod before continuing, “I saw the setting sun, brilliant gold staining the treetops of the forest stretching out beyond the walls below me. I watched the night start to fade and the stars emerge and as beautiful as it was, all I could think was that I couldn’t be happier because I was with my favorite person in their favorite place.” He pauses, seeming to steel his nerves before continuing. “I was right here, looking out over the keep, and I didn’t need to look to know who was beside me.”

“Are you saying-?” You can’t even bring yourself to finish the question, mind racing as you try to process what your best friend is suggesting. 

Vax lets out an amused little huff, back to flipping his dagger deftly between his fingers. “You know I’m in love with you, right? I have been for years now.” He shrugs as he catches the blade once more, shooting a soft glance at you, “It’s alright if you don’t feel the same, I don’t want to pressure you at all, just to suggest that your dream may not have been about my sister.”

Your dream races through your mind once more, the sweeping black hair pooling on the pillow and the sharp point of an ear. The pale skin nearly glowing in the light and the comfort you felt. All of these features could belong to Vex, sure, but could have belonged to Vax just as easily. If you were honest with yourself, you doubted you’d have felt that safe around his sister since he had been the only one able to bring you such peace. Even now, with Vax’s confession hanging over you and the silence stretching ahead, you don’t feel alarmed at the situation. It feels right, natural in a way that you wouldn’t have anticipated but couldn’t have felt easier now that you thought about it. You aren’t quite sure how you had ever assumed your dream was about Vex, when you should have known it was about him. 

“I think you’re my soulmate,” you say finally, eyes darting over to peek at him just long enough to catch the soft look on his face as he examines you. “I think it was you all along but I was too afraid to give the idea any real consideration.” You heave a deep breath and your shoulders sag as you slump against his side, leaning your head easily against his shoulder, “I can’t say I’m in love with you yet, but I can’t say I won’t be.”

He leans over to press a gentle kiss against the top of your head and you can feel the shift of his lips as they pull up into a grin, “That’s okay,” he says, an arm coming up to loop easily around your shoulders to hold you close, “If I get even a chance to stay beside you, that is more than enough for me.”

In that moment, as the sun continues its ascent over the horizon and the golden light begins to settle, you understand the ease that a soulmate is meant to bring - the safety and comfort they provide - and can’t help but thinking that the chance to be with Vax was worth far more than a life with anyone else.

Vex'ahlia Vessar - Shared Marks

The drawings hadn’t always been there - when she’d been a little girl, Vex’ahlia had wondered if she even had a soulmate since there’d been no signs of a shared bond or physical soulmark. She’d wondered whether they existed, what they’d be like - if they’d know her straight away or if it would take time for both to recognize the connection. 

Then she turned fourteen and the smudges started appearing, thick dark smears of ink coating the sides of her hands and staining her fingertips. She’d thought it was some strange disease since it’d happened while she and Vax had been camping out in the forests outside of some miniscule town, but Vax had watched on in awe and pointed out the way some of the trailing lines looked like letters - badly drawn and wonky in shape, but letters nonetheless, and Vex realized that there was someone on the other side of her tether afterall.

The letters had smoothed and straightened with the years, but their author never wrote to Vex directly, no matter how many times she reached out. She’d all but assumed that her soulmate didn’t care to know her and given up when the first little doodle arrived. It wasn’t much, just a crooked little flower etched into the pad of muscle at the base of her thumb, but it felt like more than just a practicing of letters - it felt like it was for her.

Since then, the drawings have become a bright spot for her - something that she finds herself eagerly checking for each morning and hoping appears before sleep claims her each night. There’s no rhyme or rhythm to when they appear, not really, but over the last year or so the subject matter has been becoming more and more specific. 

It’d started subtly - just a little bird on the inside of her wrist. A blue jay. She wouldn’t have even thought it was personal if it weren’t painted the exact shade of blue as the feather she wears in her hair. 

Then there was an arrow that spanned the length of her leg, sharp edged and perfectly fletched, with lightning crackling around the edges.

The next one was a bundle of thorns ringing her wrist, far too similar to the thorn forest where she’d been possessed in the feywild to be a coincidence. 

It’s late, well past midnight, when the sensation of a paintbrush over her skin jerks Vex from her sleep and she moves blearily to the tall mirror against the wall of her chambers to watch the colors bleed to life against the canvas of her skin. It’s all oranges and pinks and reds blending into a vivid gold across her abdomen, a sunset taking form - a rich black cuts through, creating ground and the shadows of trees and mountains. A landscape then, Vex thinks to herself. The darkness gains further shape, shadows coalescing into the form of a woman and a large animal beside her. It’s a bear. The painting is of her and Trinket.

Vex’s unseen artist brings in a grey to accentuate the pair and the detail is nothing short of tender - there is love in the intricacy and she can’t refute her suspicions any longer - her soulmate is someone she knows, another member of Vox Machina.

The realization is overwhelming, sure, but it’s also sort of reassuring - that whoever fate thinks she’s meant to spend her life with is someone who’s already proven to have her back and value her skills. It’s… easier somehow to think of this other half of her heart as someone she already cares about. It’s also infinitely easier to narrow down who it might be.

Obviously her brother is out, as is Keyleth since Vex knows the Ashari’s soulmate mark matches Vax’s. Pike and Scanlan are eliminated for similar reasons and Vex feels confident in discounting Grog, since the Goliath’s huge hands would make the level of detail in the drawings virtually impossible. This leaves her with Percy and, well, you. 

A paladin from Baldur’s Gate, Vex had assumed you’d be as stuck up and self-righteous as most of the other paladins she’s met but you’re not. You’re a newer addition to the team, but fit into the group as easily as breathing - quick to prank Vax and Scanlan and Grog, but never hesitating to stop the situation if it starts to go too far. You’d stepped between Percy and a blast from Delilah Briarwood in the battle at the Ziggeraut, helped Grog pick himself up after his loss at the Crucible, helped Keyleth with her research into the other Ashari tribes, and even helped Scanlan figure out what to do next when he learned he was a father.

She’d given you a hard time once, late at night when the two of you were on watch and the rest of the party were asleep in their bedrolls, teasing you about tying yourself to someone else’s ideals by taking your oath and you’d smiled like you were letting her in on a secret. 

“My oath is to myself,” you said, voice soft enough that she almost wondered if she’d actually heard you over the crackling of the campfire, “To trusting myself to know what is right and what is wrong and to do what I can to help keep the balance.” You’d looked sheepish in the golden glow and Vex had been shocked to find herself thinking you cute, “It’s not something many would understand, certainly not something most paladins would relate to, but it’s what I devote myself to.”

The sound of your voice haunts Vex now, even as the ticklish sensation of the brush’s strokes fades and her mysterious artist leaves her once more. She can’t look away from the scene of her and Trinket captured by the light of the setting sun, perfectly at home in the trees. She’s not sure anyone has ever known her so well before.

Vex doesn’t sleep that night.

-----

You’re already at your usual place at the long table when Vex makes her way to breakfast the next morning, still clad in your ever-present armor, even when there’s no plans for an adventure for the next fortnight. Vex takes her seat across from you wordlessly, ignoring the conversations around her in favor of studying you.

You smile softly at her, nudging a plate already loaded with her favorites toward her. “Had to fight Grog for the last of the bacon, but I saved some for you.” you said, like this thoughtful little action wasn’t giving her a crisis.

Keyleth calls your name and you start, hand retracting as you turn to face her and Vex’s eyes catch on a flash of color as you move.

There's red crusted under your fingernails. 

Of course, it could always be blood, but your armor is spotless and you’re not careless enough to leave your hands bloody if you’ve already polished your armor. And with armor like that - a kit that covers your full torso and down your arms, there’s really no way she’d have ever been able to see any artwork hidden beneath. But your fingers - you were deft enough to create detail like the ones she’d seen last night, creative enough to piece together magic like the designs you wove from thin air.

It had to be you.

Vex reaches over to snatch the ink pen Percy was using to scrawl out blueprints on the back of a napkin and presses it hard to the back of her hand, smearing the dark liquid in a messy swipe across her skin and watching intently as an identical blur bleeds to life across the back of yours.

Your fingers tense instinctively at the feeling of the ink creeping over your hand and  you catch her eyes as you shift to pull your hand under the table surreptitiously. She can see the moment you realize she knows when you set your fork back down with a clink, a tense look on your face as you push back from the table and stalk out of the room without another word. 

-----

Vex finds you in the armory, sitting with your back to the wall as you drag a whetstone along the edge of your sword. You don’t even look up as she enters, though the tightness in your shoulders confirms that you know she’s there.

“How long have you known?” she asks, closing the door behind her and leaning against it. “How long have you known you’re my soulmate and not told me?”

You swallow sharply, like the words cut deeper than any blade would be able to. “Since Whitestone,” the words are soft, something you never thought you’d have to say aloud. An admission of guilt you’d been unready to give. “I drew a protective sigil on my wrist, something to ward against necrotic energies, and I saw it on yours a few minutes later.”

She remembers that - the strange whorls and barbs of runes she couldn’t read bleeding to life just where her arm guard didn’t cover. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Vex hates how fragile her voice sounds - how it sounds like she’s close to tears.

You finally look at her then and Vex realizes that she’d never known what color your eyes were until this moment. Hadn’t realized how lovely they are. 

“I didn’t think you’d want me even if you knew,” you say, and it kills her how matter-of-fact you sound. “I don’t have anything to offer - no money, no land, no title. Vex, you deserve far better than me.” Your eyes drift back toward the door like you’re seeing far past it, “It always seemed like there was something between you and Percy, so I decided I would leave myself out of the picture so you could pursue someone who’s a better match for you without the weight of destiny dragging you down.” There’s something bitter in the twist of your face, in the sharpness of your voice on the word ‘destiny’ and Vex feels an answering pang in her chest.

She frowns at you, crossing her arms over her chest. “That wasn’t your decision to make,” she bites out, pressing on when it looks like you want to argue, “It’s my decision whether I want to pursue something with Percy or if I’d rather explore what we could have together. You had no right to take that choice from me.”

The rhythmic grinding of the whetstone against metal finally stops and you look up at her. There’s a long moment when you look like you want to argue with her before she can see the set of your jaw loosen and you nod, “You’re right.” You sigh, pocketing your whetstone and sheathing your sword as you stand and move to stand in front of her. “It’s your right to decide what you want for your future and I won’t stand in the way of that.” You look… smaller… without your armor, like without the thick plates of steel to protect you, you’re back to being only human. She’s a little taken off guard to see you without it, especially when you must’ve known she was upset. You take a deep breath, like you’re forcing yourself to press on, “Vex, I’ve loved you for a long time. Before I even realized you were my soulmate. I certainly don’t deserve you, but if you’ll give me a chance, I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy.”

Vex can’t help but smile as she leans in to kiss you. Really, what more could she possibly have hoped for in a soulmate?

Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III - Names

The sound of a struggle jerks you from your fitful sleep, but you stay still, slumped against the back wall of your cell, eyes closed and breathing even, until the gate of the cell beside yours slams closed and you can hear the guards disappear off down the corridor they’d come from. Then you push yourself upright and make your way over to the thick stone wall separating your cell from the Briarwoods’ newest prisoner.

“You alive over there?” you ask, leaning against the shared wall. It extends a few inches past the thick bars at the front of the cells and the side walls of the cells are solid stone, making it impossible to see into any of the other cells apart from the one across from you, but even if you’re unable to see the new prisoner, an enemy of the Briarwoods has the potential to be an ally of yours.

There’s the shuffle of clothing, a pained hiss and then a thump against the other side of the wall, like whoever was on the other side had fallen against it.

“I have to get out of here,” your new companion groans. The voice is deep, masculine. It’s accented, thick with Whitestone’s regional dialect, but also strained in a way you were plenty familiar with. He’d been screaming.

“Briarwoods or Ripley?” A shudder wracks through you at the thought of your own experience with the Briarwoods and their lackeys. You can still feel the burn of Sylas’ fangs in your throat.

It takes a moment, but the reply comes. “Ripley. This time.”

You hum, knowing just how thorough her ‘testing’ can be. You move to pass your hand through the bars at the front of the cell, stretching as far as you can toward his cell. Your companion does not move, so you wiggle your fingers pointedly. Eventually he relents and slowly slips his hand into yours.

A smile crosses your lips for the first time you can remember since being imprisoned, and you let the warmth of your magic fill your veins, congregating where your palm meets his. His fingers relax in your hold and his breathing eases a little as you heal the worst of his wounds.

“Incredible,” he breathes, flexing his fingers and marveling at how quickly the pain had vanished. “How did you…?”

You shrug, though you know he can’t see you, “It’s a paladin thing. They took my sword when they tossed me in here and Delilah found a way to block the rest of my magic. I guess they left this because it's handy to have a constantly replenished bloodbag for Sylas.”

Your companion makes a sound of disgust, but he settles against your shared wall as close as he could figure to where you stand and you mimic his position.

The night passes quickly with someone to talk to and the following weeks pass similarly, with one or the both of you dragged off to be tortured during the day and you doing what you could to patch each of you up during the night. You’d come to know each other as the time passed - he’d told you about his parents and his siblings and what it was like to grow up in Whitestone, and in exchange you told him about yourself, though you both were careful to avoid giving your names. Names mean knowing one another, solidifying the bond between you - giving yourself something to grieve in a place where loss is all too easy to come by.

It’s another such evening of licking your wounds and easy conversation when you find yourselves interrupted by the door at the far end of the dungeon crashing open. You fall silent and feign sleep as you normally do when the guards make their rounds, but you can hear your companion shifting to get a better look at the newcomers.

You can hear five - no, six- people racing past, arguing about a bounty and finding a cultist, when one set of footsteps stop, pausing in front of his cell.

“You there,” a woman’s voice calls, loud enough that you can tell she’s addressing your friend. “Happen to be some sort of cultist?”

“I beg your pardon?” You can hear the dry derision in his voice, all the outrage he could muster in his exhaustion. 

There’s the soft scuff of a shoe, but that’s your only sign of one of the other intruders returning. You doubt you’d have noticed it if you were any less perceptive. 

“The other cells are empty,” a man’s smooth voice tells the woman, rich and soft and you can catch the faint hint of an accent. Not from Whitestone. “This must be our asshole.” 

You nearly snort, but start to move instead, slowly shifting your weight up onto your feet so you can surge forward at the first sign of trouble. Your armor would have made such a stealthy maneuver difficult, if not impossible, but unarmed as you are, you’ve become remarkably light on your feet.

“If you’re looking for the raving mystic, you’ve missed him by two days,” your companion’s voice says, even and steady as you’ve ever heard him. If you didn’t know him so well, you’d have almost been fooled into thinking him uncaring. Only you knew how he’d cried the night the only person he’d seen in weeks that hadn’t been out to hurt him had died. “This environment didn’t agree with his constitution.”

The rest of the intruders had returned by this point and you can hear a few disgusted grumbles at the sight of your friend’s decomposing cellmate. 

“Suppose we can kiss that reward goodbye,” the first man muttered, and from your new vantage point you can make out a pale half-elf with dark hair, a similar looking woman beside him. Siblings? 

You filed the observation away as you took in the rest of the group, weighing your odds. 

“Maybe not,” the dark haired woman replies thoughtfully, stepping closer to the cell bars. “You don’t seem like you belong in a place like this. We’re a bit short on funds and you talk like you come from money.” She hums, and you can see the way her dark eyes study your companion. You wish you knew what she’s seeing, “How much would it be worth if we break you out?”

“A small fortune, I dare say,” your companion says, and your brows raise. You’d assumed he was someone well-born by the way he spoke and the stories he’d told you, but you hadn’t thought he was someone worth a fortune, small or otherwise. The dark haired woman gives a signal and her brother moves to start picking the lock on your friend’s cell. “If I wasn’t flat broke at the moment,” he finishes and you could slap him for ruining his own escape. He huffs at the strangers’ silence and presses on, “Why bother lying? You’d find out soon enough there’s not a silver to my name anymore. I am totally alone in the world.” He pauses, and you’d give everything in your power to know what he was thinking, “Almost totally alone. Perhaps you can relate?”

The woman seems to consider it for a moment, sharing a look with her brother “You’re shit at negotiations,” she says. 

“He is brutally honest, though,” you say, moving forward to lean against the bars. The corner of your mouth twitches up at the way the group startles, surprised by your sudden appearance. They’d forgotten you were there. “It’s a skill you may very well need in the future.”

She turns her gaze to you and it’s clear to see that she’s weighing the worth of your words, “Fine.” She signals her brother again and he clicks the lock open, sliding the gate to your friend’s cell open, “Let’s see where the truth gets us.”

The weight in your chest loosens as he steps free of his cell, stretching out to his full height for the first time in weeks. He’s scruffy and needs a shave and his hair’s more dust-colored than white, but he’s handsome and free and that’s all you could’ve hoped for for him. You stretch your arm through the bars and clap him on the shoulder, “I hope you live a good life,” you say, starting to pull your hand back.

His fingers closing tight around your wrist halts your retreat back to your corner, “I am not leaving you here to rot.” The firelight refracts against his glasses and his eyes are blazing as they bore into you. “Especially not when it’s my name on your wrist.”

Your heart lurches and your gaze drops to your wrist - the sleeve of your shirt long-since shredded by Ripley and the Briarwoods’ attention and the name of your soulmate on full display. Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III. It’s been inked into your skin for as long as you can remember, but you’d never imagined actually meeting him. Part of you still doubts it, but you can see the shapes of your own name peeking from the sleeve of his tattered shirt where it’d ridden up his arm. 

His smile doesn’t falter as the dark haired rogue moves to unlock your cell as well, “Please, love, call me Percy.”

Keyleth of the Air Ashari - First Words

There’s a surprising amount of pressure to always have the right words when any of them could be the ones that your soulmate recognizes - that any unfortunate string of words could be what tells your soulmate “It’s me, I’m right here! Please see me and choose to stick around!”

It’s romantic, sure, to know that someone out there will hear her say something and know it’s her but for someone with anxiety like Keyleth’s, it’s also kind of the worst type of soulmate bond to have. Why couldn’t she have had one of the easy ones, like having her soulmate’s name written right there on her wrist or seeing color when she meets their eyes for the first time? Why did she have to live her life in perpetual fear of saying something stupid in front of some hot (Keyleth’s an optimist - she likes to think she’ll be attracted to whoever Fate has decided is perfect for her) stranger and hoping they don’t take one look at her and turn right around. 

It’s something that’s always in the back of her mind, even when it definitely shouldn’t be what she’s focusing on. Like now, for example, when Vox Machina is helping clear the debris and search for survivors after the Chroma Conclave attacked Emon. The skies have split into a massive deluge of rain, water coming down in thick sheets that’ve helped to smother most of the remaining fires, but the damage the dragons caused was plentiful and plenty of people were still injured and killed, dozens more caught in the destruction. 

The fight had taken most of her magic and she’s exhausted, muscles shaking as she strains to move a thick support beam that had several survivors trapped in a building on the verge of collapse. She startles as another set of hands join hers, the stranger heaving from the other side of the beam - their breath comes heavy but they seem to possess the strength that she’d already expended.

“Ready when you are,” the voice comes and it takes a long moment for Keyleth to realize that she’d actually just heard the words that’d been haunting her for years - that this person, whoever was on the other side of the smoldering joist, was her person. She swallows hard, grits her teeth, and strains. Inch by inch, the support shifts until the people trapped in the building are able to escape.

“Get clear!” Keyleth’s soulmate tells her once the last refugee has made it out and she’s quick to take a couple steps back as she and her soulmate both release their hold on the still-smoking beam. And that’s when she sees you for the first time, and you’re not what she’d pictured because you’re so much better.

You, in your singed and torn city guard uniform, with soot smudged across your cheek and a gash across your temple still bleeding sluggishly. You, with the rain plastering your hair to your face and your clothes to your body. You, who just helped her save people. Who didn’t ask how to help, just jumped in because it’s what needed to happen. You, who very well might be one of the hottest people she’s ever seen, like whatthefuck- You, who’s staring at her like she might be a little bit crazy because, oh, you’d asked her a question hadn’t you?

….she doesn’t know what you’d said. Gods, had she really been too busy thinking about you to listen to you? She blinks, mind reeling as she scrambles to think of anything and - 

“Great weather we’re having, huh?” There’s a split second of confusion - this utterly baffled look in your eyes - that has her doubting what she’d heard you say, that makes her wonder if you’re actually her soulmate or if she’s horribly misread the situation and about to make a fool out of herself and she’s started weighing the benefits of running off to live in the woods forever (not all that bad of an option, really) and then you’re laughing and it might be the best sound Keyleth’s ever heard.

“I was never much for rain,” you manage as your laughter fades, and that barely there curl of a smile has Keyleth all but melting. Your eyes soften as you look at her, “If today’s shown me anything, it’s that you can find incredible things in the rain.” Silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable and Keyleth doesn’t feel like she has to ramble to fill the quiet. You smile playfully and drop into a low bow, offering your name to her like you’re a noble at some fancy party meeting royalty and she snort-laughs as she lets you take her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles. She might’ve been embarrassed for it if you didn’t look at her like she’d hung the sun.

She takes your hand, slips her fingers between yours, and walks with you deeper into the ruined city, determined to do as much good as you can. Together.

[undercoveravenger]

Heads up y'all- this week is the start of the semester for my university so I won't have as much time to write. There might be a while between posts since I have a full time job + full time school. I'll still post when I can, but I can't make any promises as to how frequent that might be

[undercoveravenger]

Collusion

Pairing: Criminal!141 x Detective!Male!Reader 

This is Part 4/4 of this AU - Click here for part 1, here for part 2, or here for part 3

Warnings: Blackmail, Deception, Implications of Stalking

-----

There’s something wrong. Something in the stillness of your apartment, the centimeters-off discrepancies between where you’ve left something before leaving and where you find it when you return. Something in the way your laptop is running slower than normal, like there’s a program running in the background alongside the ones you’re actively using.

The suspicion has been building for weeks, but the tiny flicker of light in the corner of the room seals it. You’re being watched.

As a detective, you have no shortage of enemies who’d benefit from your disappearance, but you’re careful enough that no average criminal would have been able to find you. That knowledge, coupled with the near-surgical precision that the four cameras you’d found had been installed with, narrowed your suspect list down to two options.

Either Shepherd knew you were onto him and had sent in Graves for recon to see exactly what you knew and how to handle you, or Johnny and his big masked associate had been here. No matter the culprit though, your home has been compromised and you need to move. You do your best to keep casual as you load a go bag - keeping your eyes well away from any of the cameras to avoid tipping off whoever was watching you. 

It only takes you about five minutes to gather your essentials, but even that seems to have been too long since there’s someone waiting for you when you open your front door. He’s big, broad, and you recognize his eyes from when you’d met Johnny in the empty restaurant and he’d been there too, even through the skull-printed mask he wears. You recognize that, too - it’d been picked up on a few surveillance cameras across the country, pinning him to a number of high profile crimes. You knew this guy, had seen his case files a few times. He had a frustrating habit of vanishing into thin air - it’s what landed him with the moniker “Ghost.”

Ghost leans against the opposite wall from your door, thick arms crossed over his massive chest. Your fingers ache to curl around your handgun, but you know it’d be useless - you’re sure he’s not here alone and a gunshot would just bring his backup down on top of you.

“Goin’ somewhere?” he asks, eyeing the gym bag slung over your shoulder. You can almost see the sardonic lift of his eyebrow. Can feel the derisive smirk.

You shrug, the less information you give, the less he can use against you. “What are you doing here?”

His mask shifts, pilling tight around his mouth like he’s smiling. “‘m here to pick you up for date night, sweetheart.”

-----

As it turns out, “date night” means being blindfolded and driven to one of the many abandoned warehouses downtown (you know almost exactly where you are - two right turns, a left, and then three more rights with five or six minutes between each has narrowed your mental map to a range of about three city blocks). 

You’re helped out of the car and led into a building, someone guiding you down onto a cold metal folding chair. Once you’re settled, the blindfold is removed and you’re left to take in the surroundings, blinking in the harsh light. 

There’s a bank of windows about twenty feet to your left, many of them broken. Ghost sits at the far end of the battered couch to your left, long legs kicked out in front of him as he watches you, eyes dark behind his mask. Johnny’s sitting at the other end, about as close as he can physically get to you without standing. His knee’s bouncing swiftly, like he literally can’t stop moving. You can still feel those icy blue eyes boring into you when you turn away from him.

A man sits across from you, hands clasped and resting on the table that separates you. He’s an older man, probably ten or so years your senior, with enviable facial hair. You can tell he’s the one calling the shots by the way the others keep deferring to him, Johnny stilling and easing back in his seat at a word from his boss, despite his apparent desire to stay as close to you as possible. Even Ghost, as standoffish as he seems, keeps looking back to the other man to check in, like he’s looking for approval.

And standing behind him is the same devilishly charming private investigator that had joined you on your last stakeout. The same one who’d kissed you in the front seat of your car. The one who’d had unsupervised access to your laptop shortly before it started acting strangely.

Kyle Garrick has the decency to look mildly abashed as he meets your eyes and you’ve got half a mind to call him out, but the older man speaks before you can. The sound of your name has your eyes darting back to the group’s leader. 

“My boys can’t stop talking about you,” he says with a smile, eyes bright as he examines you. “I didn’t understand it at first, but I get it now.” He holds a hand back toward Kyle, who passes him a thick manila envelope. “I understand you’re looking to put Shepherd away for good,” he brandishes the file in your direction, “This has everything you’ll need to make that happen. Rock solid proof of collusion, treasonous intent, accepting bribes, and everything else. This and my top notch legal team will make sure everything goes as planned.”

You can’t tear your eyes from the envelope in his hands, from the way the sides bulge with the weight of the information inside. It’s right there - after everything you’ve done to get to the bottom of it, to find proof - and now it’s just a few feet away. But these men are criminals, clean as their records may seem, and their help would come at a cost.

“What do you want for it?” you force yourself to ask.

He hums, like he’s thinking about it, and you can hear Johnny creeping closer beside you again. “You,” he says finally and you don’t have to look to know that they’re all watching you. “With Shepherd out of the way, there’ll need to be a new chief instated. We’ll make sure that’s you and you’ll point the department in whatever direction we suggest. We’ll do our part to stay off the radar, of course.” He kicks one leg over the other, lounging back in his seat like a throne, “But in exchange, you’ll be ours.” 

You really look at him then, taking in the way the dark of his pupils has eaten away the blue of his irises. Kyle’s got a white-knuckle grip on the back of his chair, like that’s all that’s stopping him from approaching you. Ghost is watching you like he’s considering the best way to take a bite out of you, and Johnny - 

You startle slightly as Johnny takes your hand, lacing his fingers between yours. “Wouldnae be such a bad thing, would it?” He tugs your hand up to his lips, starts laying kisses across your knuckles. “Ta be ours? Price’s good on ‘is promises, lovie.”

Ghost rumbles his agreement, leaning forward to rake his fingers through Johnny’s mohawk and use his grip to pull him back enough for pleading blue eyes to sear into you. “He’s been achin’ to show ya’ how good it’d be. You gonna let ‘im?” 

Johnny moans against your skin, “God, please LT? Let me-” he strains slightly against Ghost’s hold but you’re too busy filing that away. LT - Lieutenant. They’re ex-military. They’d probably served as a unit. It certainly explains the loyalty and the way they move together like a well oiled machine. They’re something else now, closer to a mafia than some low-level street gang, and you’re sure their ties in this city run deep. There’s no telling how far those connections could span - could even be halfway across the country, if not farther with how they behave.

The older man - Price - reaches up, taps two fingers against Kyle’s wrist and he wastes no time now that he’s got permission, moving to press himself against your side. “We’d make it worth it,” he hums, nudging his nose playfully against your jaw.

“We wouldn’t require anything untoward,” Price muses, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement as his boys fawn over you. “Nothing illegal,” he amends, “I wouldn’t ask you to break the law, detective, just bend it a little. Be willing to dig where we point you and agree to a few dates here and theorem and in exchange we’ll give you the power to make real change.” He tips his head to the side, studying you. You can see it for what it really is - a challenge.

But God, it’s a tempting offer. To have everything you want dangled right in front of your face for just the promise of your time? For you to follow the leads they throw you? But you’d owe them and you doubt they’re the type to let you cut ties once you get what you want. 

“And if I say no?” you ask, raising a brow at Price and doing your damnedest to ignore the tempting sight of Soap and Gaz on either side of you, and Ghost’s intent brown eyes boring into the side of your skull like he can see right through you.

Price shrugs, sits back in his chair like it’s a damn throne. You can see why he’s the one calling the shots. He must’ve been high ranking before. Probably a captain, at least. 

“We wouldn’t hurt you,” he says, like it should’ve been obvious. “You’ve caught our eye, and we'd hate to damage something so rare.” His blue eyes sharpen to ice where they pierce into you and you feel like a rabbit caught in a burrow with a wolf waiting outside, “But you’d find we’re rather like dogs with a bone - we don’t give up on what we want.”

And just like that you understand your choices perfectly - let them help you achieve your goals in exchange for being their on-call boyfriend, or let them establish their own places in your life, on their own terms. At least with one you have some pretense of maintaining control.

You stay quiet for a long moment before nodding, knowing you’ve been beaten for the time being. “Fine,” you say, “I agree to your terms.” You stubbornly refuse to look away from him, even as you can feel the smile Johnny’s pressing against your throat or the way Kyle’s pressing his face into your palm or the shadow Ghost casts as he stands and starts closing in on you. You know it’s collusion- a deal with the fucking devil, but this is your only choice at this point. If you’re lucky, the closeness will give you the opportunity to wipe their organization off the map too, but in the meantime, you’ll just have to reap the benefits.

[undercoveravenger]

WHERE ARE U, ME AND THE KIDS MISS U

Sorry - the store was out of milk! I'll send child support straight away!

(Jk, I got super sick and work was taking up a lot of my time - should have a new fic out tonight, I think?)

PS - this ask made my day and I about died laughing, so thanks for that lmao

[undercoveravenger]

Three Halves of a Whole

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Male!Reader x Steve Rogers

Requested: No

Summary: You’re not supposed to remember either of them, but the Winter Soldier has a way of sticking in your mind and Captain America is pretty hard to forget.

-----

You don’t think you’re supposed to remember him when you wake up. The cryosleep is supposed to be a reset - a complete wipe between missions to keep you from getting too attached to anyone or anything and prevent you from completing your missions, but you’re being haunted by memories of brilliant blue eyes boring into you. Of your fingers twisted into soft brown hair, the heat of a body pressed close to your chest and another at your back. You know why he looks familiar, at least - his cryopod is the one across from yours. You’ve seen the Winter Soldier enough times to know his face, worked with him enough times to recognize the way he stands, the slope of his shoulders, and the way he sometimes flinches when he moves his metal prosthetic, like he almost forgot it was there.

And then there’s the other one. You don’t know him - you might have once, but you don’t now. Sometimes you think he’s tall, but then other times you remember him smaller? His eyes are blue, too, but darker than the Winter Soldier’s. He’s blond, and you can almost remember what his hair looked like when he woke up in the mornings, though you don’t know why.

You’re curious, of course, but you’re smart enough to know better than to ask any of the HYDRA agents why you know them. You know that digging for more information is just asking to get yourself tortured into a mind break like the one you’d seen one of the other assets go through years ago. No, you were on your own to figure out who you used to be.

At least, you’d been on your own until Captain America himself told you. It’d been a standard op, just a simple hit, though the target was high profile enough for both you and the Winter Soldier to be sent in. Some government official too close to uncovering HYDRA details. Based on your briefing, he’d already escaped the Soldier once. He would not escape the both of you.

It was easy enough to tail him to some plain apartment building downtown and train the sight of your sniper rifle on him through the window of the unit he hid out in, though your aim was slightly thrown off when the big blond super soldier you’d been thinking about entered the apartment, surprised but not off put by your target’s presence. For the first time in your career, you hesitated. The Winter Soldier doesn’t - he pulls the trigger without hesitation, bullet easily smashing through the drywall and slamming home, your target dropping easily. You fire off your own round for good measure and follow him quickly as he starts toward the evac point, though your pace increases as you hear the super soldier - Captain America, your mind unhelpfully supplies - pursues you.

You make it to the rooftop where you’re meant to be retrieved just as he emerges behind you and launches a shield at you and your partner. The Winter Soldier turns at the eave, metal arm snapping up to catch the razor edge of the shield before it can slice into your back. 

The Captain’s eyes are intent on you - shocked, maybe awed? - where he sees the distinct scar running from your temple down the side of your neck, not quite covered by the mask over your mouth and nose, and a name escapes him in a pained whisper. It’s familiar - like coming home after a long day to the smell of food, of warmth and safety and something like love.

You can feel the heat of The Soldier’s furious gaze over your shoulder as he stares at the blond, the wind whipping off the surface of the shield as he launches it back, and then the bite of his cold metal fingers against your bicep as he ushers you over the lip of the roof and into the city below, unaware of the questions building in your mind or the sense of self beginning to creep back to you.

-----

It’s not safe to go back to the evac point yet, not with one of the world’s most famous superheroes on your tail, so you and the Winter Soldier hunker down in one of the HYDRA outposts outside of Scarsdale, New York. Not far from the mission in case you have to go back and finish the job, but enough to give it time for everything to cool off.

He’s silent, where he sits across the room from you, though you can feel those ice blue eyes on you. You can see why they would dub him the Winter Soldier, with eyes like that. He’s clearly thinking, though you couldn’t even begin to guess what about.

You’re distracted enough by your own thoughts that you almost don’t hear him speak.

“Why did he call you that, Null?” The Winter Soldier’s voice comes as a growl, though it’s missing the malice he’d normally direct at a target, just rough with disuse. He repeats the name that the Captain had used. Soft, slow - like he’s testing the weight of it. He says it a second time, like he’s decided he doesn’t mind the feel of it in his mouth.

“I think that’s who I was…” you start, turning the name over in your mind. You can almost hear it - a voice sort of like the Soldier’s and another like Captain America’s, but there’s something missing, a fondness that doesn’t feel like it should be directed at you. “Before HYDRA.” Your brows furrow against the sharp stab of pain that always accompanies thinking about your past, but you force yourself on. “It feels familiar, but not quite mine. Not anymore, anyway.”

The Winter Soldier nods, like he understands, and you almost wonder if he feels the same. If there are memories that haunt him too. 

The name strikes you suddenly, like it had been waiting to bring itself back to the surface. “Steve,” you say, and the word feels familiar on your tongue. “That’s his name, isn’t it?” A huff escapes you, a feeling of victory at claiming something from your past back to yourself. “It is! Why do I know it?”

“He mattered to you,” The Winter Soldier says, not a question or an assumption. A fact. “He knew you - recognized you. Back on the rooftop.” You can see the way he swallows, the sharp dip of his Adam’s apple between the top of his collar and bottom of his mask, “It was familiar to me too, but I don’t understand why.”

You hesitate, the both of you are in very dangerous territory. If HYDRA found out the two of you were talking about this - about who you might’ve been before…

“Do you- do you think we knew each other?” you ask, shifting slightly, back pressed firmly against the wall behind you. “You and I? And maybe him?”

He shrugs, eyes not wavering from where they are fixed on you. “How are we to know? After so long? So many wipes?” He shakes his head, “I don’t know that we possibly could.”

The call comes before you can respond and the two of you are moving again.

-----

There are two targets this time, that same blond - Steve, you think - and a woman, both in a vehicle headed south on a highway out of Washington DC. There’s a few other people in the car, but the handlers had said they were unnecessary so you weren’t too worried if they lived or died. The Soldier had been on intercept, dragging the traitor out of the moving car and tossing him into incoming traffic without a second thought while you waited at the next overpass, rifle prepped and sights set. 

The driver must have thrown the car into park since it came to a screeching halt, throwing your partner off. He skids to a stop and you leap from the overpass to meet him as the targets pile out of the ruined car. Other HYDRA agents pour onto the scene as backup, but your focus does not waver from the blond that’d known you, even as the Winter Soldier begins to close in on the redheaded woman. 

You find him in an overturned bus, still brandishing that stupid shield. “Why do you know that name, маленький герой?” you call out, flipping a knife between your fingers idly, having long since abandoned your rifle. You can hear the other HYDRA operatives swarming outside, but you bark at them in Russian to leave your new little pet to you. That you will take care of this one personally.

He looks gutted by the sound of your voice, so taken off guard that he doesn’t even flinch as you approach him, despite your devastating reputation and the weapon flickering between your fingers. “Oh God,” he breathes as he gets a better look at you, taking a thoughtless step forward, “It is you-” 

You snarl and your temper flares, hand moving before you can think. Your knife strikes deep into the wall beside his head with a sharp sound, sticking in place. There’s a new knife in your hand in less than a second. 

“Why do you know that name?” you growl again, frustration taking hold of you. You lunge at him, striking again and again as he continues to block you, never striking back though you leave him plenty of openings. 

Your barrage forces him back into the open, where his partner seems to have vanished and yours has made his way in, falling into step beside you seamlessly. Your torrent increases, buffeted by The Winter Soldier’s might, until Steve manages to get a hold on The Soldier and flips him, his mask dropping and revealing his face in the process.

The name comes to mind just as Steve says it, voice thick - disbelieving. Like his world had just been upended. 

“Bucky?” Steve gasps, and you’re frozen - awash in a wave of memories of the three of you, caught up together in a tangle in the bed of a tiny Brooklyn apartment and then saying goodbye when you and Bucky are drafted. The reunion when Steve is finally allowed to enlist. His first emergence as Captain America. The train. And now - now this.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” The Winter Soldier growls, moves to attack-

You stop him with a hand to his shoulder. “держись, солдат,” you say, and he nods, stowing his weapon as other HYDRA agents swarm in around the three of you. You have only a matter of seconds before your window of opportunity closes, you press in close to the Captain, making a show of forcing him to his knees to disguise the way you whisper an address into his ear. “You have two days to meet us there and tell us everything. Only you. Be there or don’t.” You push away, moving back towards Bucky. “See you soon, маленький герой,” you call back over your shoulder, Bucky following easily after you as you walk away from Steve.

-----

Sure enough, Steve arrives at the safe house with the dawn the following morning, having escaped capture one way or another. He’s cautious as he enters the building, and with the way The Winter Soldier - Bucky, you correct yourself - is glaring at him from his seat against the far wall, he's probably right to feel that way. 

He’s been protective in the past, blocking bullets from hitting you and intercepting opponents that’ve targeted you, but Bucky’s protective streak seems to have been dialed up to eleven in the last few days. His metal hand flexes and his free hand slips to one of the knives at his belt as Steve enters the room behind you, like he’s ready to throw himself across the room to put himself between you and the perceived danger.

“I wasn’t sure if you would come,” you said, tipping your head as you examine him. “There’s been some developments since we were last on good terms.” 

Steve chuckles, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. It’s… cute, though you find yourself surprised by the thought. “Yeah, I suppose there has been.” He clears his throat, bashful under your gaze, “I spent the last seventy years thinking you were both dead.”

“No,” Bucky says, voice still cold as he watches the Captain, “We just wished we were.” 

You hum, moving to stand next to Bucky and threading your fingers through his hair. He eases slightly at your touch, “We spent most of it virtually unaware. Mind wipe after mind wipe. But things… lingered. At least, for me they did. You were there, sometimes, in my memories. The both of you were.” You swallow slightly and one of Bucky’s hands comes up to curl around your leg, an absent-minded soothing gesture. “I remember some of it, but the pieces don’t fit together quite right. What-” you have to force yourself to continue, “What were we?”

A broken laugh escapes Steve, like the distance between him and the two of you physically pained him. “We were in love. The three of us.” He nods toward Bucky, “Just Buck and I, at first, but we both fell for you fast when we met you. It, um, it wasn’t really an accepted thing, back then, but we made it work. And then I lost you both and it almost broke me.” He took a shuddery sigh, but pressed on, “I kept going because I knew that’s what you’d have wanted for me, but if I’d have known you were alive-”

“You wouldn’t have stopped until you found us,” you finished, smiling lightly. It was an odd sensation, after so long, but it was good to have him here. Making you feel like this. “I’m glad to remember you.” 

Bucky seems more hesitant, though you know the pieces are starting to fall back into place for him too. You can feel his fingers digging into your leg where he clutches at you, but it’s more desperate now than possessive - like he needs an anchor to keep him in place. 

Steve smiles at you and you remember that scrawny kid from Brooklyn that you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He fills you in on SHIELD’s betrayal, on the truth of Project Insight, and you tell him that you’ll help him stop them. And that you’ll have to disappear after that, until HYDRA is wiped out and the trigger phrase eliminated so they can’t use you or Bucky ever again. 

He nods, “I’m glad you’re alive. And I’m with you until the end of the line if you’ll have me. However you want me to be.” 

Bucky stands next to you, arm slipping up from your leg until he could lace his fingers with yours. “You’re not getting rid of me,” he tells you, and it sounds almost like a threat until you catch the fond twinkle in his eye. Almost a perfect mirror of the way it had been back in the day. 

“Together then,” you said, looking from one of your boys to the other. “Three halves of a whole again.” 

And yes, there was a long road ahead of the three of you to root out the source of HYDRA to ensure you and Bucky’s freedom, but it would be okay because the three of you were together again. The way you were always meant to be.

[undercoveravenger]

Will you ever come back to JATP/Julie and the Phantoms. Cause your the best and mostly the only to write such good fics with that fandom and about Luke and Male Reader

Aww, that's so kind of you to say! I may come back to it in the future, but I don't currently have anything planned for that fandom as I've sort of aged out of it. I'll probably re-watch it again soon and see if it sparks any ideas

[undercoveravenger]

Do you do paid fanfics/commissions?!

I haven't in the past but might be willing to depending on what someone was wanting! It would need to be a character I felt confident in writing, so either on I have/currently write for or one whose personality I feel like I could pull off if I check out the source material.

[undercoveravenger]

Building Destiny

Pairing: Loki x Asgardian!Male!Reader:

Requested: Yes

Request: Tumblr ate the original request but it was something along the lines of: “Loki finding his lover who he’d thought was dead but was actually banished to Earth”

A/N: Takes place during the events of 2012’s The Avengers because I miss that era of Marvel SO BAD

-----

In your time on Earth, few things had posed such a potential problem as the Tesseract. While few had the ability to use it, its very presence invited those who would attempt to use its power to harm the universe. Including your old flame, Loki. He’s why you’d been so quick to accept Fury’s invitation to assist with its retrieval.

You doubt he even knew of your involvement until he’s been captured and brought aboard the SHIELD helicarrier. Until those brilliant icy blue eyes meet yours through the window of Banner and Stark’s lab as you help them bridge the gap between the Tesseract’s science and magic as he’s escorted to the holding cell, wrists shackled and a muzzle clamped over that too-clever mouth. You can see the flicker of shock in the miniscule tilt of his brows, the creeping wave of doubt that replaces the recognition. You can’t blame him for doubting the reality of your presence, not after everything that had happened. 

And you leave him with that doubt as the days pass, as SHIELD agent after SHIELD agent attempts to crack him. You let him stew over whether he’d truly seen you or just a doppleganger as the buzz begins to settle and security begins to lapse, and then, finally, late in the night you go to him, security cameras fuzzing out and guards slipping into the warm grasp of sleep in your wake.

In just a few short breaths from your sleeping Midgardian colleagues you stand opposite the thick wall of glass keeping Loki contained, face to face with your lover for the first time in centuries. He seems startled, though only someone who knew him as well as you would’ve been able to tell.

“Hello, my love,” you say, a hand coming up to press against the glass between you without conscious thought. It had always been instinct for you to want to be close to him.

He’s silent, but you know it comes only from that brilliant mind racing - that he’s calculating odds and probabilities. That he’s trying to determine the truth of your presence - whether it’s really you or just another trick SHIELD is using to try and get to him. 

“You died,” he says slowly, not yet believing you, but still unwilling to put further distance between you. “A very long time ago.”

A wry smile twists your features and you pull back, fingertips cool from the glass, and start to circle the glass prison. His gaze does not waver from you. “I suppose that is what Odin would have told everyone, yes,” you sigh. You gesture up toward the security cameras, “They’re off, by the way. And the guards will not disturb us, I’ve made sure of that.” There’s a flicker, a waiver of reality, as you vanish and reappear inside of the cage behind Loki. “You know what he told me? That I was dangerously close to destroying your destiny, and Thor’s alongside it. He said I would uproot the very fabric of fate if I remained at your side.” 

He doesn’t turn to face you, though you can see a fraction of the tension leave his shoulders under the rich greens and burnished golds of his armor. 

“I told him I would rather die than be kept from you. And he said that he could make me wish for death.” It hurts to remember the look on the All-Father’s face, to think of the weight of his decree, but Loki deserves to know everything. To be able to make his own choice for once in his long life. “He sent me here with nothing and no one and no way for me to get back to you.”

The silence is heavy, bearing down on your shoulders with all the weight of the things you’d never gotten the chance to tell him. The truths you’d learned that you hadn’t been able to tell him, the ‘I love you’s’, the eternity you should’ve been able to spend together.

“Did you try?” he asks, voice soft like silk bedsheets in sleepy afternoons spent curled up together and crushed velvet clutched in desperate fingers. “Did you try to find a way back?”

Your voice is thick, the words hard to force out around the heft of their truth, “Every day.” 

He turns, finally, the ache in his blue eyes matching the one in your heart and he makes it a half step toward you before he starts to collapse and you surge forward to meet him, arms curling tight around his waist to support him and keep him close to you. His fingers tighten into the leather of your armor, holding you just as tightly. He will not lose you again. “I mourned,” he says, and you can hear the pain, the tears threatening to choke his words, “By all the realms, I mourned.” 

“I know,” you murmur, because you do. You’d had no way of knowing if he lived, all those years with you trapped here, but you had hoped and mourned anyway - grieving over all the years you should have had. “But we’re together now. Loki, we can go.” His weight eases against you as he looks up at you and you can see your suggestion taking root, “We use the tesseract to get off this planet and go somewhere, just the two of us. No Odin, no Chitari, no destiny that we do not build ourselves.”

A breathless sort of laugh escapes him and you can feel his fingers slip up your back to curl into your hair and he drags you down until he can kiss you, deep and longing and aching in a way you can feel through every fiber of your being. “Okay,” he says, when he pulls back for a breath. “Okay.” He’s smiling so broadly he’s nearly unable to kiss you again. Nearly.

And you feel the same joy echoing through you, knowing that the two of you are free now, free to be together and build the future you never thought you’d get.

[undercoveravenger]

Do you write smut for Luke from Julie and the Phantoms, like can you write for him?!

No, I no longer write for Julie and the Phantoms. There's a list of all the fandoms I write for linked in my bio

[undercoveravenger]

Excuses

Pairing: Astarion x Barbarian!Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: “Could you do something with an Astarion x male barbarian. But where the barbarian isn’t totally a himbo and is more of a mother goose of the party?”

-----

It’s off, Astarion finds, to be cared for after so many decades of pain. To have come to not only anticipate your nightly check ins, but to expect them. To see you leave your seat at the fire just before the sun begins to sink past the horizon and start checking in on each of your companions - giving each of them a few minutes of your undivided attention before you move on to the next.

He can’t remember ever being treated like this - doesn’t recall anyone making the effort to routinely ask him how he’s doing or if he needs anything. And he knows you’re not just talk - he’s witnessed time and again your willingness to part with things to help others. To find little ways to take care of them. Infernal iron for Karlach, magic items for Gale, weapons for Lae’zel, and armor for Shadowheart. You’d stood up to a devil for Wyll and regularly sit with Halsin to learn more about medicinal herbs so you can help patch up your friends after a rough fight.

You arrive as he’s ruminating and sit quietly across from him, taking care not to disrupt his thoughts. He hates how such a small action makes him feel warm, how the look in your eyes makes his chest feel tight. His tongue is heavy, thick and useless in his mouth under the weight of your gaze. 

He can smell blood. Your blood. When he forces himself to look, he can see where it still seeps from your split knuckles. For once, the smell has him feeling sick to his stomach.

“Hello, dear,” he forces himself to purr after what has certainly been too long. “Come to see me at last?”

“Of course,” you say, smiling at him. He pointedly ignores the squeeze of what used to be his heart at the sight. “Saved the best for last,” you tease.

“Well,” Astarion says because his mind has quite suddenly gone blank. “I won’t argue on that. Though if you’ve come to offer yourself as a late night snack, I’ll have to decline - you’ve lost a bit more blood than you should’ve if you wanted a nibble.”

You laugh and Astarion hates himself for how much he wants to hear it again.

“I’m fine,” you say, waving off his concern and pulling out your bag, “Anyway, you lost a dagger earlier so I wanted to bring it back to you.”

Astarion blinks, fingers closing gently around the cool metal of the dagger he’d assumed was long gone. That you, tired and injured as you are, had sought it out and returned it to him just because it was his and you thought he’d like to have it back?

“And besides,” you continue, like he isn’t in the middle of a crisis, “I noticed the shirt you were wearing yesterday had a snag in the shoulder. Figured I’d ask if you wanted me to mend it for you?”

And, well, if you’re so desperate to find excuses to spend time with him, who is Astarion to say no? Especially since he’s feeling just as eager to spend time with you.

[undercoveravenger]

Wicked Masterlist

All of my oneshots and longer fics listed alphabetically by character; just click the link to go to the fic! All are male!reader unless noted with "GN" for gender neutral

Fiyero

Couldn't Be Happier: Fiyero is no stranger to taking people on dates, but he can't remember the last time he was nervous asking someone out.

[undercoveravenger]

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

All of my oneshots and longer fics listed alphabetically by character; just click the link to go to the fic! All are male!reader unless noted with "GN" for gender neutral

Astarion

Excuses: Astarion doesn't mind the excuses you find to care for him.

Doting: Astarion is a little overwhelming when you’re injured.

Intrusive Thoughts: An unexpected side effect of the tadpole leads to you finding out what the camp’s resident vampire really thinks about you.

Gale

Gale's Barbarian: (Headcanons) Gale always assumed he'd end up with a fellow scholar - he couldn't have predicted a love like you.

[undercoveravenger]

Deeper Waters

Pairing: Siren!Finnick Odair x Male!Reader

A/N: Happy mer-May! What do you mean it’s almost July? Oops. Well, as a treat, have the popularly requested part 2 to “Rising Tides” (click to check out part 1)

-----

Finnick hates to admit it, but he’d wondered if you’d been lying to him when you agreed to meet him again. He knows how dangerous it is to swim with sirens, of course he does, but that hadn’t stopped him from spending the last day hoping that you’d choose to trust him anyway.

And you do. Sure as the tides, you appear on the beach just before sunset, just as you’d said you would. You’re dressed like some of the other humans Finnick’s seen swimming, having discarded your usual shirt and wearing shorts that leave most of your legs bare. For the first time, Finnick understands why someone might be willing to throw away their whole life for the promise of a siren’s kiss - that’s how he feels for you.

He surfaces a short swim from the shore and a smile forms, unbidden, as your eyes find him and you take a step closer without thinking. You continue toward him, leaving your things behind on the sand, and Finnick is shocked to realize that he’s nervous. 

“Hello, Angelfish,” he greets as you wade closer to him, waves lapping at your ribs. “I wasn’t sure you’d show.”

You swallow sharply and Finnick finds himself tracking the movement of your throat. You look hesitant, but you speak nonetheless. “I almost didn’t,” you admit. “Part of me figured this was some elaborate scheme to feed me to your school or whatever but-” 

“Pod,” Finnick corrects helpfully, rolling over to float on his back and grin up at you. You look confused and something warms in Finnick’s chest at the sight. Cute. “A group of sirens is called a pod.”

You blink again and then nod slowly, “Pod, then.” You press on, seeming not to notice that Finnick has drifted closer. “But you could’ve killed me a dozen times and haven’t, so I guess that earns you a little trust.”

Finnick can’t help but smile so wide his cheeks hurt at that - you trust him! He ducks under the water and curls a graceful loop around you, letting his strong tail and silky fins brush against your legs as he spins around you. You don’t flinch away, which he takes as another good sign.

“Swim with me?” he says as he surfaces again and he’s not nearly as ashamed of his pleading for a human’s attention as he probably should be. “Please?”

His heart aches pleasantly when you nod and allow him to take your hands. Finnick tugs you along as he creeps backward into deeper water, moves so you’re pressed warm and solid against his back with your arms curled tight around his waist to keep you in place. He hears you take a big breath before he pulls you under.

He takes you to the kelp forest, stopping frequently to press his lips to yours and breath air into your mouth. Your eyes go wide as you see the seals and sea lions playing in the lush greenery. Finnick smiles as he pulls you into the dance with him, gliding and weaving between the thick fronds. He’s showing off a little, sure, but if this was a typical courtship you’d be doing the same. Ducking and darting between the leaves to demonstrate your agility until you caught up to him so you could swim together, fingers intertwined and tails beating in sync. 

Finnick wonders what your tail would look like - what color it would be, how your scales might’ve looked beside his, how they might feel against his own - and wishes that it was something he could know instead of just dreaming about. He dives then, a shiver of satisfaction prickling up his spine when your arms tighten around him, heading instinctively for the little sea cave he’d found nearby. 

You heave in a deep breath as your head breaks the surface into the air pocket caught in the cave and Finnick helps you up onto the rocky outcropping at the back of the cave. He immediately misses your warmth against him.

There’s a long moment of silence as you try to catch your breath and Finnick watches you before he finally forces himself to move, ducking back under the waves to retrieve the gift he made for you. He’s back at your side in a matter of moments, dragging himself up onto the ledge beside you and thrusting the bracelet into your hands. 

He’s sure there are finer things on land, but he worked hard on this and he wants you to like it. He wants you to wear it, to see the thick braid of green fishing nylon he’d cut from nets curled around your wrist. He wants to admire the bright azure flash of the scales he’d plucked from his own tail and woven into the bracelet against your skin. He wants you to accept it, to accept him.

The truth is, this is more than a trinket - it’s a promise. It means that you’re Finnick’s and he’s yours until you decide you don’t want him anymore.

You seem confused as you take the loop of fabric from him, scales clinking against bits of shell and treasure he’d added on impulse, and he’s not sure how to ask for forever in the human tongue. 

Finnick’s head tips to one side as an idea strikes him and he reaches up to clasp a hand around the side of your neck and pull you down to him. He kisses you then, not the teasing press of lips from when he was playing with you on your kayak or the necessary joining required for him to breathe air into your lungs, but a real kiss - bright and heated and real like the couples he’s seen meet along the beach.

He could feel it when the realization hit you, in the way your mouth presses harder against his and you let yourself lean into him. In the way your hand comes up to clutch at his waist where shining scales melt into tawny skin, and your tongue presses into his mouth. 

He’s breathing hard when you pull away and he’s gratified to see that your eyes have gone dark with want. Finnick reaches out then to take your wrist and tie on the bracelet and you let him.

Once he releases your wrist, you start moving quickly. You tug the drawstring from your swim-shorts and hold out your hand for his. Finnick lets you guide his hand, using his sharp claw to slice cleanly through the string where you indicate. You take the strips of fabric and weave them together into a braid that you then hold out for him. Finnick lets you take his hand again and a broad smile pulls at his lips as you tie the fabric around his wrist.

He hadn’t expected this - hadn’t expected for you to understand his courting, for you to reciprocate, even if his bracelet isn’t as intricate as the one he made you. He can’t help the pleased little purr that escapes him as he surges toward you, tucking his head against your neck and hooking his arms around you. His tail curls tight around your legs, holding you in place with his joy.

Finnick knows he can’t keep you to himself forever, as tempted as he is, and he’ll take you back to shore soon, but for now he’s just happy that you’re his and he’s yours.

[undercoveravenger]

What is your favorite Ghost type?

Do you like Ghost all soft and quiet or more sarcastic and a bit rude, or maybe more yandere?

Not going to lie, I thought we were talking about ghost type pokemon until the second sentence - anyway...

In my mind, Ghost falls somewhere in the middle and could lean easily one way or the other depending on the story and the role he's filling. My favorite Ghost evolves - changing and shifting with the relationship.

He's gruff, intimidating, to start - all clipped words and barked orders and extra PT, and he only gets meaner when he realizes he likes you. Ghost has lost a lot - had almost everyone he's ever cared about ripped away from him - and he doesn't want to lose you too so he lies to himself about caring about you.

It doesn't work. Eventually he realizes that the way he feels for you isn't going anywhere and he starts to ease up. There are fewer harsh words, he cuts back on the training he demands from you, he even starts finding excuses to reach out and touch - clapping you on the shoulder after a good training op, correcting your (already perfect) stance at the gun range, a hand out to haul you to your feet on a mission.

It's about this time that the itch starts - that biting little voice in the back of his mind that demands he learn everything there is to know about you, from your favorite color to the name of your childhood pets. He's around a lot more at that point, though he's always got an excuse ready if you question his presence.

He starts surprising you: pulling your favorite candies from a pouch in his tactical vest, offering little tidbits of himself in conversation with you. It's the softest he's allowed himself to be in years but he aches for more - for your arms around his waist and your chin on his shoulder as you hug him from behind while he makes you breakfast, for you tangled up with him in bed, for your voice, rough with sleep, calling him Simon.

It's not obsession, not really, but he can see the life he could have with you stretching out before him and it's too tempting not to act on so he asks you out and you say yes and the date goes better than he could've hoped. The next thing he knows he's saying "I love you" and you're saying it back and Ghost's the happiest he's ever been.

He's protective, willing to fight tooth and fuckin' nail to protect this little scrap of happiness. He knows you can handle himself, but he keeps an eye out for you in crowds and on missions. He's always ready to have your back and if someone hurts you? Well, what's a few war crimes in the name of love?

----

Yandere Ghost though? Now that's a scary thought. He's military, and not just that but he's pretty highly ranked and for good reason. He is damn good at what he does. He's trained in infiltration, in gaining access to an area without anyone knowing he was there. Ghost's a trained killer - and you've given him an objective.

The worst thing would be the not knowing.

Seeing people around you going missing only to reappear weeks later in a completely different region, their bodies dismantled to near unrecognition with brutal precision.

The way your home feels ... off whenever you get back after being gone for a while, like someone had been there. Things have been moved slightly, you find groceries you remember wanting but not buying. Sometimes you catch a flash of a cologne that feels familiar but you can't quite recognize.

The worst thing is the way you've started to question yourself, that you're starting to wonder if you've lost your mind, that you didn't even suspect Ghost might have something to do with it until it's too late.

[undercoveravenger]

Doting

Pairing: Astarion x Male!Reader

Requested: No

Summary: Astarion is a little overwhelming when you’re injured.

-----

In your experience, there is almost nothing better than a good fight - the thrum of adrenaline, the pounding of your heart, the sweet sting of overworked muscles. Truly, there is little better, but this? This is torture.

You’re used to injury, it comes with the territory of being a melee fighter, but you’re not accustomed to taking it easy and letting yourself be doted on the way Astarion demands that you be. 

He hadn’t seemed to care about your hesitance to settle down and allow yourself to heal when you started traveling together, but ever since the fight at Moonrise Towers he’s been much more… invested in your recovery. He’d been on you almost as soon as General Thorm’s body hit the ground, prying the blood-slicked handle of your axe from your fingers and shoving it at Karlach so he could start dragging you back up the passageways back toward camp, waving away Jaheira and her Harpers and anyone else that sought to speak to you. 

Once you’d made it to camp, he was quick to unbuckle your armor and cast it aside, helping you clean off the blood in the river nearby before dumping you in your bedroll and demanding that you stay there. He’s been hovering since you got back, checking in near-constantly and always offering to bring things to you when you’re more than capable of fetching things yourself. You’d been the one to land the killing blow on the avatar of Myrkul, and now you’re barely allowed to lift your own canteen when you want a drink!

Even now, as you silently slip from your bedroll and move to take up your greataxe, you can hear him digging through the camp chest and muttering about the lack of medical supplies. He’ll be peeved when he figures out that you’ve snuck out, but you know you’ll be more helpful using your strength to clear what’s left of the battlefield than lying here counting the holes in your tent. Your fingers close around the haft of your axe and lift and there’s a flash of pain as the movement puts too much strain on your injured ribs. The stitches give as your skin tears and the wound pulses as it begins bleeding sluggishly again.

“Shit,” you hiss under your breath, free hand coming up to press over your wound like that’ll stop him from knowing.

Already you can hear the chest snap shut outside and swift footsteps approaching your tent. 

“I know I haven’t done anything to draw blood,” Astarion pushes aside the door flap, unimpressed crimson eyes fixing on you almost immediately. “So care to tell me why you’re bleeding again?” He raises an eyebrow at you and nods pointedly back at your bedroll. A sigh escapes you but you relent, placing your axe back in its place against the tent support and moving to sprawl back out on your bedroll at Astarion’s feet.

He settles silently at your side, unraveling your bandages until he can get at the pulled stitches. He uses the sharp tip of one of his daggers to slice through the damaged thread and carefully removes the remnants from your flesh before setting about threading up a curved needle so he can replace the stitches you’d pulled.

“I don’t understand,” Astarion says softly, voice hardly above a whisper, “why you won’t just let yourself heal.”

Your breath catches as the needle pierces your skin for the first stitch. “Because I’m fine and my time would be better spent helping out there.” You tip your head back to look at him but he won’t meet your eyes. “It’s just one little stab wound - it’s not like this would kill me.”

His lips twist into a sharp frown and his eyes flash up to meet yours. You’re more than a little surprised by the anger you see in them. “It could have. Any number of things in that dreadful place could have and then you’d be gone and I’d be alone again and I can’t be alone again!”

You’re stunned, baffled, by his outrage. Sure, you’d warmed each other’s bedrolls before and he’d told you something of his past, but he’d never led you to believe he cared this much. His chest heaves with the weight of his admission and his eyes are bright, like he’s on the verge of tears, but you knew he’d rather die than shed a tear over the likes of you.

“Astarion,” you say and the sound of your voice seems to snap him back to the present. You take his hand in yours and guide it up to press over your heart so he can feel its steady beating under his palm. “I am fine. Really, I’m alright. I am not going anywhere.”

He nods, opens his mouth like he’s going to say something and then thinks better of it. He nods again, and turns back to your stitches. He finishes them deftly, and then settles down at your side as soon as your bandages are tied back in place, lying next to you with his head on your shoulder and his hand firmly against your heart.

“Once Shadowheart or Halsin get back, we’ll have them heal you,” he says quietly, “but until then, let me stay? Just-” Astarion’s voice breaks off slightly and you’re not quite sure where the two of you stand anymore, whether this has pushed you past your playful bullying and comfortable acquaintanceship and into new territory or if you’re expected to just keep on as you always had. “Just let me make sure you’re alright until then.”

You’re still antsy, still itching to go back to Moonrise and help with the wounded, to help clear the wreckage, but Astarion is warm where he is curled close to your side and the weight of him is soothing enough that you’re content to stay where you are for the time being. Slowly Astarion’s breath starts to even out and you find sleep beginning to creep up on you as well.

You know that you’ll have to talk to him about what this means for the two of you when you wake, but for now, at least, you don’t mind his doting.

[undercoveravenger]

Gale's Barbarian (Headcanons)

Pairing: Gale x Barbarian!Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: “Gale dekarios x himbo barbarian male reader who is well meaning and caring but dumb as rock head cannons”

A/N: Okay, but I love smart-as-hell + dumb-as-a-brick duos. Hope you enjoy!

-----

Gale’s not sure what he was expecting when a hand clasps his to pull him back through the portal. Someone demanding repayment for their good deed, perhaps? He was not anticipating you.

He’s knocked off balance as his feet hit solid ground again and he has to remind himself that the sudden wave of dizziness is just a result of the magic (it’s definitely not attraction, that would be preposterous, wouldn’t it?)

He continues telling himself that each day when he joins you on your quest to rid your little adventuring party of the illithid tadpoles infecting you, despite the perpetual distraction posed by your flexing muscles and towering physique and the memory of how nice it felt to have you holding his hand.

Despite how undeniably kind you seem, Gale is naturally hesitant to tell you about his… condition. Eventually though, the time comes and he broaches the subject with you. Explains that he needs magic to keep himself from coming apart at the seams and that he understands that it’s inconvenient to sacrifice a magical item in order to - oh? You’re just giving that to him? Just like that?

It’s like you don’t even need to think about it. He needs a magic item? Sure, will this work? He’s never had someone be so… eager to help him. Gale almost wonders if you’ve got some ulterior motive.

Soon enough he learns that that’s just who you are, eager to help those who need it. Volunteering to find the druid Halsin to help the tieflings and to find a girl whose brothers think she was taken by a hag. It’s… heartwarming, to say the least.

He’s a scholar though, simply being kind isn’t enough to win his heart. He needs to be challenged! But well, when you agree to let him show you the Weave - the look in your eyes as you see the magic of the universe stitching together around you - well, there are other things than studiousness.

Okay, so maybe he admires you as more than a comrade, but he’ll be hells-damned before he says anything about it! At least, that’s what he resolves to until he sees Astarion of all people cozying up to you at camp a few days out from reaching Baldur’s Gate. Then he has to take action.

He sends a projection to disturb your moment with the vampire, to call you away to the spot he’d picked out in a meadow nearby. The sky is big and bright and colorful stretched out above the both of you and it feels like a good night for taking chances.

He finds it surprisingly difficult to find the words to do this - to tell you what he’s feeling- with you sitting there beside him. But that’s okay because you’re patient. You sit there beside him, watching the aurora above you.

Eventually he manages “I like you, rather a lot, really.” And you smile at him and he can feel his hopes lifting. 

He gets an “I like you too, Gale. You’re a great friend!” for his trouble.

Okay, so it’s back to the drawing board. He tries bringing you flowers and you ask him if he wants you to try to make a flower crown out of them for him, because why else would he be bringing you a bouquet? He tries to make your favorite food for dinner (and did not burn it, thank you very much!) and you just attribute it to coincidence!

From there he decides he must forsake the classic cliches because clearly they are not working. Eventually he manages to persuade you into a walk, just the two of you, and decides he needs to just come out with it. 

“I like you,” he has to be quick before you can dismiss it as friendship again, “I really quite like you. And I’m not sure if I wasn’t clear enough before, but I like you in a romantic fashion and I would rather like the opportunity to be your partner if you find that amenable.”

It takes you a second to parse through the big words (he rambles when he’s nervous, okay?) but then there’s “oh? Oh! That’s- you were trying to ask me out before?” and Gale wants to slap himself but then you smile and lean in to kiss him and Gale thinks that everything may be alright after all.