undercoveravenger

[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.

[undercoveravenger]

Are there going to be anymore updates on the Criminal!141 x Detective MaleReader

Yes! I've started on the next part, just trying to figure out how to end it. Not sure yet if this will be the final part or if there will be more to come

[undercoveravenger]

Intrusive Thoughts

Pairing: Astarion x Reader (written with a male!reader in mind, but can be read as gender neutral)

Requested: No

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

WARNINGS: Some suggestive content

-----

Nothing has been “normal” since your escape from the nautiloid, but you’d settled into your new life with your merry band of misfits. You’ve grown used to the rumble of Halsin’s snoring, to the ever-present bickering between Shadowheart and Lae’zel, to the ever-present prickle of Gale’s magic against your skin. You still don’t like it, but you’ve even become accustomed to the faint squirming of the parasite in your head and the strange powers it provides.

But now, only three days’ travel from home, from Baldur’s Gate, the rules have changed again.

You’d been speaking with Astarion, helping him by copying out the runes carved into his back when you hear it, hear his voice asking “Why would you help someone like me?”

You respond without thinking, not even looking up from your sketch. “I care about you, Astarion. I’m happy to help you.”

He shifts slightly, twisting to look at you over his shoulder. “Not that I don’t appreciate the declaration of your devotion, but that was rather out of the blue, don’t you think?”

“Not really?” you say, “You just asked me why I’d help.”

Astarion is quiet for a long moment. “I didn’t say that.”

You blink, eyes finally lifting from the parchment balanced on your lap to study him. Astarion loves mind games, thrives on the little bit of control they give him that he’d lacked for so long, but you’ve gotten good at reading him in the time you’ve been travelling together and you know he’s not playing with you now.

“I could have sworn-” you shake your head, dismissing what you thought you heard as a passing impulse, an errant daydream. “Never mind.”

Astarion hums agreeably but his eyes don’t waver from you, sharp as always but intense in a way you haven’t seen before. “What a pleasant sight,” his voice hums through you, “Wonder what else I could do to have you on your knees…”

Visions flash behind your eyes, perspective warped like you’re seeing yourself from someone else’s eyes. 

You, kneeling before Astarion with your hands settled against your thighs and your head tipped back so you can watch him, fingers twitching like you ache to reach for him and are only just restraining yourself. 

You, sprawled on your back near a roaring campfire and Astarion settled on your lap, pale thighs bracketing your hips. There’s a smile on your face as you offer him your wrist and he takes your gift - because that’s how it feels, like something to be treasured, hidden close to your heart and protected - and then you can hear the hitch in not-you’s breath as his fangs sink in and then liquid gold as your blood floods your mouth and he moves against you. 

The vision shifts again, to you curled up with Astarion, your arm curled around his waist and your head on his shoulder like it had always belonged there. Not for the first time, you’re struck by the strangeness of looking at yourself through someone else’s eyes, but the look of absolute trust in your eyes as you shift to look up at Astarion - at yourself? - and not-you’s mouth opens and “I love you” spills out with all the ease of something said a thousand times before.

A cold hand touches your face and you’re wrenched back to the present. Astarion is looking at you intently, worry evident in his brilliant ruby eyes. 

“Darling, are you alright?” He studies you, eyes trailing over the length of you like he’s looking for a wound that isn’t there. “You seemed rather lost in thought.”

Thought? Was that it? Had you been hearing- seeing- Astarion’s thoughts? Did he really want those things with you? Blood and sex, sure - those were things you’d shared already. But that intimate sort of trust - love? You’d never expected that he'd want that with you. 

You can feel it when he looks at you, not quite full thoughts but snippets, fragments - warm, safe, happy. There’s a sensation of  butterflies in your stomach and you have to ask before you choke on the wings.

“Astarion, are you in love with me?”

He freezes, eyes wide and startled. If you hadn’t known him so well, you might not have been able to see the mask starting to slip back into place. There’s a tension in him now, you can see the desire to run, can feel his thoughts whipping into a whirlwind. It’s a frantic mess of “Lie- run- yes- hide it- admit it- Cazador will use this against me- lie-”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he says, eyes downcast like he can’t bear to look at you while he says it.

It’s such an Astarion-typical deflection that it gets a smile out of you. You roll your eyes, hands moving to cup his face and tug him closer until you can kiss him.

There’s a fraction of a second where he hesitates against you, frozen under your fingers, but the moment your lips touch he’s surging forward against you, his hands in your haid. There’s a flash of “Oh” and then “Good- Great- Wonderful,” that has you grinning against his lips. He pulls away after a few seconds and looks at you, eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Am I to assume then, that you share my… interest?” There’s an echo of “say yes. Sweet Hells, please say yes,” and an ache in your chest, a yearning you’re not quite sure how to process.

You do your best to block his thoughts and feelings out, to focus only on your own. You think of the way his eyes shine when he’s amused, his wicked sense of humor, that infuriating charm. The white hot rage that flooded you when he told you what Cazador had done to him. You think of the future and can’t picture it without him at your side.

“I love you.” The words are easier to say than you’d expected, and the smile that overtakes him, bright and unrestrained, reassures you that you’ve made the right choice in telling him.

“Oh thank the gods,” slips past your mental barricade as Astarion moves to pepper your face in kisses and you can’t help the laugh that escapes you. 

“Would it-” he interrupts you with a kiss, “be a bad time-” he kisses you again, “to mention that I’ve-” another kiss, “been hearing your thoughts this whole time?”

He leans in to kiss you again before your words sink in fully. “You WHAT?!”

You can’t contain your laughter and Astarion smiles as he redoubles his affectionate attack. For the first time, even with everything looming ahead, the future looks bright.

[undercoveravenger]

Sleep Like the Dead

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Male!Reader

Requested: No

Summary: Everyone on the team thinks Ghost is the worst person to share a bed with. You don’t mind and Ghost finally gets a decent night’s sleep.

-----

No one ever wants to share a bed with Ghost on a mission. It happens every time, at every safe house, so he’s not surprised when Gaz and Soap call dibs on sharing one of the two double beds. They’re both pretty calm sleepers and won’t disturb each other’s rest so it makes sense for them to pair off. Price posts up in the battered recliner mumbling something about being “too old to share.” And that leaves Ghost with you, the 141’s newest addition. You haven’t been on the team long enough to know to find other sleeping arrangements.

You trail him easily into the other bedroom and strip down to your boxers, climbing under the covers without complaint at being stuck with him. He slowly settles beside you, just as tense as he’d been out on the field - adrenaline not quite fizzled out yet. You don’t seem to mind, eyes closing and breathing slowing basically as soon as your head hits the pillow and just like that Ghost is alone with his thoughts.

Despite himself, his mind echoes with the sound of Soap whinging about bruises he’d gotten from Ghost’s less-than-gentle “readjusting” and Gaz’s complaints of his snoring - “What, you running a chainsaw in there, Lieutenant?” “There a thunderstorm in your room last night, Ghost?” There’s a reason Price would rather go for a kip in some ratty old armchair than sleep anywhere near Ghost, even if he never voices why. He knows he’s not an ideal bed partner and he hates it. Hates that he’s exposing you to it - you, who’s never looked at him like he’s weird for keeping his mask on and who’s never seemed to be afraid of him, even the first time you’d met him. You, who’s seen some of the brutal things he’s had to do out on the field and never once judged him for it, who’s done plenty of nightmarish things yourself.

But this is the first negative trait he’s willingly exposed you to and he doesn’t want to see you try to duck him as a bedmate the same way the rest of the team does, especially when he’s starting to suspect that he feels more than camaraderie for you.

You move then, rolling onto your side and hooking an arm round his middle to tug him back against your chest. Ghost’s frozen against you, muscles tight and breath shallow, even as your heart beats steady and slow against his back. He settles slowly, breath evening out to match yours. He’s not used to being… cuddled, let alone being the little spoon, but it’s sort of nice to be held. Like you’ve got his back, even unconsciously. 

He shifts slightly, nudging himself back into your arms further and brings one hand up to curl around yours, settling your joined hands against his chest above his heart. 

Simon’s eyes slip closed somewhere between one breath and the next and he sinks into the most peaceful sleep he’s had in years.

-----

Everyone’s looking at him strangely when they all gather in the morning to prepare for evac and he’s not sure why. He can only take so long of Price’s concerned stare and Soap and Gaz whispering around furtive glances before he snaps.

“What,” he says, and that seems to be all the permission Soap needs to sidle closer, studying him intently. “Got somethin’ to say?” Ghost challenges, arms crossing over his chest. “Say it.”

Soap hesitates only a moment before he says anything, fingers tapping rapidly against his thigh like he’s nervous. “Did you, ah, did you sleep last night, LT? Like, at all?”

Ghost blinks. Blinks again. It’s not the weirdest question Soap’s ever asked him, not by a longshot, but it feels strangely pointed and he’s not sure why. “Slept fine. Why?”

Gaz cocks his head, dark eyes puzzled as they dart between Ghost and the door to the bedroom that he’d shared with you. “Did he?”

Ghost is saved from answering by you making your way out into the living room with the rest of them, go bag already packed and ready. You’re shifting your weight up onto the balls of your feet like you’re ready to take in a run, like you’re itching to move. Your eyes are bright, not a hint of sleeplessness to be seen about you.

“Maybe they tuckered each other out?” Soap suggests, eyebrows waggling suggestively as he looks between you and Ghost. “Surprised they were able to keep that quiet-”

“Shut it,” Ghost growls, trying to keep the teasing from letting you on to the feelings he’s finally admitted to himself. “We both slept fine. What’s all the fuss about?”

Price claps a hand over Soap’s mouth before he can make another raunchy comment, interjecting himself to help move the conversation along. “Just glad to hear that you were finally able to get a good night’s sleep, Ghost. Seemed to us you hadn’t slept well the last few ops.” His eyes slip to you and back quickly, lingering just enough that he knows that Price knows. “Seems whatever change you’ve made to your nightly routine might be a good one to keep up. Maybe try to make it a regular thing?”

Ghost wants to argue. To protest that sleeping in your arms wouldn’t have changed anything for him, especially not enough for his team to notice, but he knows Price is right. Knows that it’s having you with him that’s finally allowed him to rest. That you make him feel safe, as crazy as he feels admitting it. He’s not ready to really do anything about whatever it means quite yet, but he knows that he’ll be seeking you out to share a bed again on the next op. And maybe, if that goes well, inviting you back to his flat in Manchester while the team’s on leave to see if the effect you have on him goes both ways.

[undercoveravenger]

Entrapment

Pairing: Criminal!141 x Detective!Male!Reader (This part is Gaz centric with Price entering the scene soon)

This is Part 3 of this AU - Click here for part one or here for part two

Warnings: Crime, Deception, Gaz acting as a honey trap

-----

There’s something off about your new partner. Some freelance Private Investigator that the chief sent along with you for a low-level stakeout, the two of you wedged into the tight front seat of an unmarked sedan, eyes locked on a warehouse at the edge of town. 

Or that’s where your eyes are supposed to be anyway. Ever since your last meeting with Johnny (he’d pitched such a fit the last time you called him by his last name that you’d all but given up on the professionalism) you’ve been virtually unable to tear your eyes away from the evidence on the flash drive he’d given you. 

“Something interesting?” Kyle prompts after a long silence, leaning across the center console of the car to get a glimpse at the screen of your personal laptop where it was balanced on your lap.

You freeze, anxiety prickling at you - if anyone at the department found out you were investigating Shepherd and it got back to him you’d be fucked.

“Oooh,” he says, catching an eyeful of the bank statement you’d been examining. “Shepherd’s got some extracurriculars, does he? Always knew the bastard was sketchy.”

He turns those bright amber eyes on you and the car suddenly feels even smaller, but you’re not sure you mind anymore. Not with a guy who looks like him looking at you like that. 

“You can’t tell anyone,” you say, words escaping you in a rush, not sure what else to do to salvage the situation.

He waves you off, like turning you in hadn’t even crossed his mind. “Oh, love, ‘course not.” He reaches over, runs a warm hand up your arm to smooth over your tense shoulders. Your skin tingles under his fingertips, like he’d left electricity crackling over it in his wake. “I wanna help,” he purrs, and between his looks and that tempting little glint in his eyes you think you might be willing to take any help he’d be willing to offer. 

“Help how?” you croak, eyes threatening to roll back as his fingers trail down the side of your throat to settle against your chest, just over your heart.

He smiles at you, bright and pleased and satisfied, “I have an… associate… that may have some more information for you. Could even help fund the trial once you’re ready to expose Shepherd. I can set up a meeting?”

There’s something to the way he talks - that particular way he strings words together to reply to you without actually giving you any information to go off of that makes you think of Johnny. A too-aware glint in his eye that reminds you of the big masked fellow that Johnny had wheedled you into kissing. Something happening between the lines, just past your awareness, and you feel a bit like you’re being led into a trap but you’re not sure how to get yourself out of it.

“What do you get out of it?” you press, forcing yourself to remain cognizant in spite of the distracting way his fingers twist into the front of your shirt.

He pauses, like he hadn’t expected the resistance, “Shepherd getting what ‘e deserves, for one thing.” Kyle studies you then, bright eyes searching. He seems to find whatever he’d been looking for because he smiles at you, softer, fonder than before. “More time with you, for another.”

It sounds too good to be true, that this gorgeous man would be looking for an excuse to spend more time with you, but the reward - the sort of support you’d need to weed the corruption out of the department - is too valuable to risk.

“Okay,” you say, grip tightening on the edges of your laptop like you’re bracing for impact.

Kyle tugs you in by the front of your shirt, kisses you soft and swift, like he’s making a promise.

Movement catches your eye as he pulls back, the suspect you’d been waiting for. 

“Shit,” you hiss, tossing the laptop aside and scrambling out of the car to race after the suspect. Unknowingly giving Gaz the chance he’d been waiting for.

-----

It’d been easy enough for Gaz to create false credentials and get himself onto a case with you, but he hadn’t been sure how he’d go about getting his hands on your phone or laptop.

He’d been lucky that you’d been working on the information Soap had slipped you on Shepherd, since that gave him the perfect opening to set you up to meet Price. 

Even better though, you tearing off after that suspect gives him the opening to install the monitoring software onto your laptop. 

As it finishes installing, he taps on the tiny earpiece he’s wearing to unmute it. “We’re online,” he says, a tiny smile tugging at his lips at the sound of Soap’s excited cheer. “You two were right,” he glances out the window and catches sight of the three figures watching on from a neighboring rooftop. His smile widens as his eyes drift back to you, where you’d apprehended your perp and were in the process of handcuffing them, “He will be fun.”

[undercoveravenger]

Couldn't Be Happier

Pairing: Fiyero x Galinda’s Brother!Male!Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: “Maybe reader is Galinda’s Brother, who has a masculine body and voice, but is just a feminine as his sister, maybe the plot that Fiyero asks him to the ball room? And Galindas an amazing wing woman?”

-----

There is something to be said about your… unique relationship with your sister, Galinda. Sure, you don’t really look all that much alike, and no, you don’t always get along very well, but there is not anyone that you trust more than each other. It’s why you’re the one she’s invited over to discuss her rather turbulent feelings about her roommate while Elphaba’s away at Madame Morrible’s seminar.

“I’m telling you, G,” you say, checking your nails to be sure you hadn’t missed a spot with the polish, “This sort of obsession is not just because you annoy each other. You like her!” You catch a slight chip in the nail polish and fix it quickly, “Invite her to go to the party with you!”

A knock at the door interrupts your sister before she can respond and you get up to answer it when Galinda doesn’t move. You’re more than a little stunned to see Fiyero, Shiz’s newest student, standing there. Your sister hadn’t mentioned anything about the Prince coming to see her.

A very intelligent “Um?” escapes you at the sight of him (and oh what a sight!) leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest.

He smiles when he sees you, pretty blue eyes twinkling mischievously, “Hello love,” he says, and you have to force yourself to remain focused on anything but the almost musical lilt of his voice.

“Sorry,” you say, taking a step back, “You’re here for Galinda, right? Let me just-”

Your sister takes that moment to utterly betray your trust, appearing at your side like she’d been summoned from the ether, “Oh, Fiyero, what wonderful timing!” She catches your arm as you try to subtly slip back into her dorm, manicured nails digging into your bicep like claws, “My dear brother here was just lamenting how he doesn’t have a date to accompany him to the Ozdust tonight!” She nudges you forward, completely ignoring the I’ll-kill-you-for-this look you shoot at her. “Perhaps,” she nudges you further forward and you nearly stumble, “You might know of a solution to his dreadful situation?”

Fiyero smiles again, softer this time, and takes your hand in his, careful not to smudge the fresh nail polish. “I can certainly think of a few solutions I’d love to be of service with,” he lifts your hand to his lips and presses a feather-light kiss to your knuckles, grateful that your sister had helped him track you down long enough for him to ask you out. “If you’d allow me the honor of escorting you to the Ozdust Ballroom tonight, that is?”

You can only manage a nod before Galinda is dragging you back into her room to finish getting ready, the both of you squealing over your upcoming dates. 

Fiyero stands there for a moment after the door shuts, listening to the bright peals of your laughter, and thinks that now, in this moment with a date with you only a few short hours away, he couldn’t be happier.

[undercoveravenger]

Part of the Pack

Pairing: poly hybrid!141 x Male!reader

Part 1: Click here

-----

After that moment on deployment when you woke up cuddled up with your teammates, your relationship with the 141 has changed and you’re not quite sure what to make of it.

Before, Soap had always joined you at mealtimes and Gaz’d drop in every now and again, but now the entire team clusters around you each day for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Price has even joined Soap in loading up your tray with a frankly unreasonable amount of food at every meal and they both watch you expectantly as you try to make even a dent in the portion.

There’s also the gifts. Shiny things, mostly, left in your office or outside your door for you to find. You’ve come into possession of a number of rings and necklaces, and even a nice gold watch with an intricately inscribed face.

There’s other gifts too though, things that appear on your nightstand or set gently onto the pillow beside yours, travel mugs with coffee or tea or cocoa made exactly to your liking, granola bars, a high quality switchblade, even a tiny wood carving of a panther. Even with the light sleeping habits from years of service, you’d never been able to catch whoever was leaving things in your room for you.

To say the changes have thrown you off is an understatement, but it’s nothing compared to this moment. To this dingy bar with its too-dim lights and overplayed music with the 141 crowded into the booth around you, high on a successful mission and tipsy from the celebratory drinks, when Ghost tugs his mask up enough to expose his mouth and leans over to kiss you like it’s as second-nature as breathing.

You’re frozen, trapped in place by your surprise in the wake of his attention, and you can feel the low, satisfied pur that rumbles through him like thunder at the feeling of your lips on his. 

“No fair,” Soap whines as Ghost pulls away from you, clutching at you from your other side, “I had dibs on kissin’ ‘im first!”

And if that doesn’t have your reeling mind screeching to a halt. First?

You ignore Soap’s pouting for the moment as you examine your teammates with a new curiosity. Gaz’s eyes are dark where they flick between you and Ghost, hungry in a way you’d never seen him before. His wings tremble slightly behind him, like there’s electricity spiking through each individual feather. 

Price looks, well, not quite proud, but satisfied, like something he’s been waiting for has just clicked perfectly into place.

Soap takes hold of your jaw then, uses it to guide you back to face him and kisses you like he’s been dying to do it. His fingers slip back to twist into your hair and pull you closer, tongue pressing brief and teasing against your lip, and you have the distinct feeling he’d be on your lap right now if the booth wasn’t so tight.

“Wha-” you manage to gasp out when he pulls back to nose along your throat, tail thumping violently against the worn vinyl seat. “What’s happening?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?” There’s a fond chuckle from Price, and you catch the way his hand slips from Gaz’s shoulder down between his wings and the full body shudder it wrenches out of Gaz. “We’ve been courtin’ ya for goin’ on two months now.”

Wait, no - that couldn’t be - except it kind of had been, hadn’t it?

Price’s signals would’ve been the hardest to pick up on - his hand lingering just a few seconds too long after a pat on the shoulder, the way he’d corner you before an op to double check your gear, the weight of his eyes on you in the shooting range - what you’d thought had been judgement apparently admiration. The way he’d slip you the dessert from his MRE when the rest of the boys weren’t looking. 

And the more that you think about it, the more signs you can remember. The shiny gifts from Gaz, the way he’d damn near beam whenever he saw you wearing that watch - the way he’d been asking you to help him preen his wings, the way his pupils would blow wide when you’d say yes and the cute little huffs that’d come when you actually handled his feathers.

The little things Ghost had left you in your room (you’re not sure how you hadn’t realized it was Ghost before between the little panther carving and the stealth with which the gifts were delivered) and the way he’d let himself fall asleep against your shoulder on the flight home. Ghost doesn’t trust easy, and with good reason, but the way he’s been behaving around you…

And Soap - God, even if you hadn’t been able to see the signs from anyone else, you’re not how you hadn’t noticed his. That you hadn’t noticed the way those pointed wolf ears prick forward and his tail wags double time whenever he sees you, or how he’s so prone to draping himself against you with an arm over your shoulder or around your waist, especially after one of those long nights at the gym - the way he’d tuck his head into your neck after a workout, like he was trying to memorize the smell of you. The way he was always making sure you’d eaten or inviting himself into your room for a cuddle. You’d always assumed it was a wolf-hybrid thing if not just a Soap thing, but now that you’re thinking about it you’ve never seen him like that with anyone else except the rest of the 141.

“Oh,” you say, suddenly feeling rather foolish for not reading deeper into your teammates’ actions. Your eyes dart between the four of them again. “Really? All of you?”

“Think we’ll be too much to handle?” Gaz Kyle prompts, challenge burning bright in his clever golden eyes.

You huff a laugh and know he knows you too well, that he knows you can’t turn down a challenge, especially one with such a tempting reward. You down the rest of your drink and clamber out of the booth over Johnny. 

“I’ll get the tab and we’ll get outta here?” you call back over your shoulder as you head for the bar. 

You can’t fight back the grin that forms at the excited chorus of agreement behind you. Sure, you hadn’t seen it coming when they made room for you in their little family, but you’d be a fool to let something as incredible as them slip away from you.

[undercoveravenger]

Highlander

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Male!Reader

Summary: Johnny’s gay awakening being Price’s adopted son, the brother of the girl he’s engaged to.

Warnings: Non-time-specific early Scotland setting, probable historical inaccuracies, Soap doesn’t realize he’s queer someone points it out

-----

Johnny MacTavish is nothing if not a good son. He’s spent his whole life training to take over his father’s lordship when he is ready to step down, developing proficiency with any weapon he could get his hands on and sitting through hundreds of dreadfully boring diplomacy lessons. He’s gone to the balls and events without complaint, and allowed himself to be shown off like some prized sheep. He’s done everything that’s been expected from him without protest.

Until now, at least, when his parents sit him down and tell him he’ll have to marry before he takes his father’s place. He understands, objectively, that a marriage like this would help solidify his clan’s alliance with their neighbors and loyalty like that could help prevent a war in the future. It’s the right call, even if he doesn’t like it.

That begrudging acceptance doesn’t mean he’s excited though, dread pooling in his stomach as he stands beside his parents and awaits his new fiancee’s arrival. Eventually a carriage comes into sight, pulled by a pair of large shire horses and accompanied by a trio of riders. 

The carriage comes to a stop and Johnny can’t even look at the woman he’s betrothed to or his soon-to-be father in law as they climb down from the carriage because he’s too distracted watching you.

There’s something about the way your shoulders flex as you dismount your horse, trousers pulling tight around your thighs and calves and Johnny’s dying a bit on the inside at the thought of you wearing a kilt.

He wrenches himself back to the present with his almost father-in-law, a sizable British fellow with an impressive spread of facial hair, who tells Johnny to call him Price and claps him on the shoulder. Price introduces him to his fiancee, a slight little thing named Abigail who seemed to have inherited her father’s blue eyes and not much else, and then nods toward you and the two other riders, one about his height with rich tawny skin and golden eyes and the other a veritable mountain of a man with a skull mask hiding his face. 

“These’re my boys,” Price says, which really doesn’t explain all that much about how the lot of you are connected to him, “You can call ‘em Gaz, Ghost, ‘n Reaper.”

And just like that, he has something to call you. Reaper.

-----

It’s the jeering that draws him in, the raucous calls of people who know each other far too well getting under each other’s skin and digging in with barbed words and sharp tongues, leads him through the courtyard where you square off against the behemoth - Ghost, Johnny remembers.

He’s got no idea about either man’s skill level, but he’s surprised to see you still standing against an opponent as large as Ghost. You’re bleeding, he notices with a start, there’s a sticky red trail of it running from your hairline down the side of your face to drip from your jaw. You couldn’t possibly take another hit like that, not with the way you’re swaying on your feet, and it’s not until Ghost is charging, barreling down on you with all the incoming force of a tidal wave, that he sees the act drop.

You’re sure on your feet again, dropping low as you brace for impact, and Ghost comes to a skidding stop. Johnny watches, awed, as the tables turn and your muscles flex as you begin to overpower Ghost and force him, inch by hard-fought inch, out of the sparring ring.

Just like that it’s over and Ghost has a fond arm around your shoulders as he drags you in to ruffle your hair and Gaz comes bounding over from where he’d been watching at the sidelines to press money into your waiting hands. Johnny slips away, the vision of your strength and the sound of your laughter playing on repeat in his mind, utterly confused by the feeling in his chest.

-----

Johnny’s still not sure what’s wrong with him when he goes to sit at the bank of the loch, long after sleep had claimed everyone else. He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting there, hiding out in the dark, when you stumble upon him.

“Oh,” you say, clearly as surprised to see him as he is to see you. “Didnae realize anyone else would be out. I’ll leave you be,” you shoot him a grin and move to leave and he finds himself speaking before he’s even thought about it. 

“No,” he says, patting the ground beside him entreatingly. “Please. Could use the company.”

You relent and move to sit beside him. He can feel the warmth radiating off of you, even from a few inches away. It’s nice in a way he hadn’t expected, like a fire on a cold night. He’s not sure what to say - what he wants to know first. “Why do they call you that?”

You seem surprised and he’s about to try to wave off the question when you answer, “What, Reaper?” You laugh, and he’s almost surprised how pleased he is to hear the sound, “It’s stupid really - I got left at Price’s doorstep when I was little, too young to know much of anything yet, and all he saw when he opened the door to find me was a figure in a black cloak disappearing around the bend. Price says it was like the Reaper himself saying it wasn’t my time yet. There was a letter tucked in the coat ‘round my shoulders with my real name, but Reaper stuck.”

“Huh,” Johnny says, not knowing what else to say. How to say that he can see something else when he looks at you now, some little piece slotted into the puzzle that made you up and told your story. Something now that just makes sense to him.

“Enough about me,” you say, nudging at his shoulder. “What brings you out here?” you ask, leaning back on your hands and watching the wind ripple over the surface of the water.

“I’m… troubled,” Johnny says slowly, trying to piece his thoughts into words. “I’ve never been torn between my duty and what I want before.”

You hum, soft and thoughtful, like you’ve put real weight to his words and you’re trying to understand him. “Is there something wrong with what your duty dictates of you?”

It’s a good question. Objectively? No. There’s been hundreds of marriages just like the one he’s expected to have. His fiancee is pretty and she seems nice enough but…

“My heart doesn’t stir for her.” It feels like confessional at church, like he’s just admitted his deepest sins and is waiting to see if he can be Saved.

“Has your heart stirred for anyone before?” There’s no judgement to your voice, like there’s no answer he could give that would be wrong. 

Johnny thinks back, tries to remember a single time at one of the parties his parents had taken him to that there was a girl that’d made him consider marriage as something to look forward to. He can’t.

“None of the girls I’ve met-”

“I didn’t say anything about girls,” you interrupt and Oh. Well, that’s something to consider isn’t it?

Sure, he’s not had the daydreams of marriage with another boy either but he couldn’t deny the way his heart aches when he thinks of you and really, now that he’s put ‘you’ and ‘marriage’ in the same sentence, it really doesn’t sound all that bad…

His realization must be clear on his face because you laugh, bright and loud and overjoyed. 

“Well, there’s your problem!” you tease, shoving playfully at his shoulder. “No wonder you don’t wanna marry my sister if you’re queer.” You go quiet, studying him thoughtfully. “Tell me about ‘im? Or them, I s’pose?” 

He’s not sure what to say, doesn’t know you well enough yet to put into words what draws him to you so profoundly. 

You take his silence as answer enough and let out a huff. Johnny’s almost worried he offended you until he recognizes the mirth in your eyes.

“Fine, keep your secrets, you wee bastard,” you tease, pushing yourself to your feet with a groan that Johnny tries steadfastly not to think about. “Let’s get you inside and t’bed before you find somethin’ else to have a crisis over.”

Johnny lets you haul him to his feet and follows you easily back to the castle, though he knows sleep will not come for him.

-----

He finds you in the stables the next day, brushing out the big black and white mare you’d been riding when your cohort arrived.

“Is there something wrong with it?” He asks after a moment, “with me… being queer?” He borrows your words from the night before and they taste strange on his tongue. Strange, but not wrong.

“‘Course not,” you say. Easy, simple as that, without so much as a thought about the answer. “Be hypocritical if I said there was when me and my brothers are too.” Johnny can’t let himself focus on your words, on the idea that you might look at him like he looks at you, or he’ll be stuck thinking on that for the rest of his life.

“What if I’m not sure?” he asks instead.

You look up at him then, studying him intently. “D’you wanna try?” you ask, as non-judgemental as ever, and move to lean against the stall door, crossed arms resting on the smooth wood between you.

Did he? There’s part of him that doesn’t want to know, to have it cemented in him that he isn’t exactly what his parents want of him. But the rest of him knows just what you’re offering him and it’s you so how could he possibly say no?

He can’t quite manage the words so he just nods, anticipation building in him as you close the stall door behind you and nudge him up against it, melting easily into you as you finally reach out and kiss him.

Johnny doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite as he does right now with your lips on his. With the rough prickle of stubble along your jaw against his fingers, and the heat of your tongue pressing into his mouth, and the way you’ve got his breath coming in short, sharp pants that get lost somewhere between his mouth and yours. 

His heart is pounding, blood searing through his veins like he’d been struck with lightning, and he’s sure that he’s dreaming as you kiss your way down his jaw to the side of his throat until you pull back and say “Simon” and he wants to be offended that you’ve called him by the wrong name until he follows your gaze and sees Ghost frozen in the doorway, eyes darting between the two of you and Johnny knows that he’s seen.

“Simon,” you say again, voice low and pleading, “Please.”

Ghost takes one step back and then another, still looking like some frightened animal despite the fearsome mask and towering bulk.

“I have to,” Ghost says, and it sounds like an apology, “Price has to know.” He leaves with that short brutal sentence carving into the space between you and Johnny and it feels like his world is crumbling around him. 

A sigh heaves out of you like it’s all you can do to remind yourself to breathe. Johnny can relate.

“I’ll fix this,” you say, carding your fingers through his hair and then you’re leaving too, and Johnny’s alone.

-----

Johnny spends the next twenty-four hours holed away in his room avoiding everyone and everything and is only disturbed when his door creaks open and his would-have-been-wife enters the room and moves to sit beside him.

“I’m not angry with you,” Abigail says when he refuses to so much as look at her. “Really, I think we could have been content enough, but I’m doubtful that there would have been more than friendship between us.” She stands again, straightening her skirts, “C’mon, then, enough with the moping. Our parents are having a meeting that we should be attending.”

Johnny knows she’s right, knows that brooding will do nothing to ease the consequences of his actions, but having her at his side helps ease the anxiety building in his stomach as he pushes open the door to the meeting room.

His mother and father sit together at one end of the table while Price sits at the other, you, Ghost, and Gaz standing behind him. Abigail squeezes his hand supportively and goes to sit beside Price, who studies him intently.

“There have been some… let’s say complications… brought to my attention,” Price says, leaning forward in his chair and steepling his hands. “With those complications in mind, I cannot in good conscience allow Johnny to marry my daughter.”

He can feel his parents’ eyes on him, can taste their panic rising in the air, and knows he has to do something.

“Sir,” he says, striding closer to Price despite the anxiety clawing at him. “I think we both know that this alliance would be beneficial to both of us. It would be a mistake to call it off.”

“Which is why the alliance will be moving forward,” Price continues, pressing on through everyone else’s confusion. “There will still be a marriage to join our families, as is tradition, but I’ll not cheat my daughter the opportunity to have a husband who loves her by marrying her off to someone who already loves another. Especially,” he grins, eyes twinkling brightly as he gestures you forward, “When my boy Reaper here says he feels the same way and would be more than happy to take her place.”

Johnny’s baffled, bewildered even, until he looks at you and sees your smile and it all clicks easily into place. He surges forward then, damn near knocking you off your feet as he throws himself into your arms, ignoring the sounds of your adopted siblings whooping and whistling at you and Price’s amused laughter and his parents voices.

He kisses you, in front of all of them, and for the first time he is excited to see what the future holds.

[undercoveravenger]

Call of Duty 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

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Sleep Like the Dead: Everyone on the team thinks Ghost is the worst person to share a bed with. You don’t mind and Ghost finally gets a decent night’s sleep.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Calm: Johnny is starting to come to terms with breaking his barracks bunny habits.

Highlander: [Historical AU] Johnny's always done what his parents have asked to prepare himself for taking over his father's lordship, including allowing himself to be betrothed to the daughter of a neighboring lord. Too bad he's falling for her brother instead.

Poly!141

Criminal Interest: [ongoing] Soap is infatuated with a detective, despite being a criminal himself. The rest of the 141 is starting to understand why (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Room in the Den: After a new law forces you into joining the previously all hybrid 141, it takes some time for your new teammates to trust you. (Part 2)

[undercoveravenger]

Premeditated

Pairing: Criminal!Soap & Ghost x Detective!Male!Reader (Eventual poly 141 & reader)

This is Part 2 of this AU - Part one: Click Here Part three: Click Here

Warnings: Suggestive (Soap’s a horny mf), allusions to crime (arson)

-----

Johnny’s “second date” with you happens exactly as he’d planned. Price and Ghost had been able to clear any evidence linking him to the explosion on Makarov’s side of town while Gaz had “miraculously found” footage of him at one of the relatively legitimate businesses the 141 operated timestamped precisely at the day and time of the incident. With nothing to link him back to the crime, Soap was released from police custody and he’d even had the chance to blow a kiss to his favorite detective on the way out.

He’d accepted his admittedly-deserved tongue lashing from Price about consorting with cops, but eventually Price agreed that you could prove quite useful once you were brought around to the idea of working with them. 

So then it was with Price’s blessing that he’d traced down your number and coerced convinced you to meet him for dinner.

The restaurant is empty, aside from the two of you and the staff, so he’s free to tease you more openly than if this whole thing hadn’t been arranged.

“Nice suit,” he says as you shift uncomfortably across from him. He can tell it’s probably just some cheap suit you wear to court when you’re required to testify and makes a mental note to buy a new one and have it delivered to you. “Bet it’d look even better on my bedroom floor while we-”

“You said,” you interrupt and God, what he’d give to have a sense of you. To see your expression and know whether this was you blowing him off or if he’d managed to actually fluster you. “You have intel worth my time.”

Straight to business, Johnny muses, Price’d appreciate that in a future son in law, wouldn’t he?

“You’ll get your information,” Johnny says, waving a hand dismissively. He thinks of the flash drive tucked away in his pocket and wonders what exactly you might be willing to do to get your hands on it. “After our date.”

“It’s not a-” your protests are interrupted by the arrival of your waiter, a towering blond with a black surgical mask over his mouth and nose. Johnny can see the way your eyes trail the length of the scar that runs down the side of Ghost’s face and something bitter twists in his stomach as you smile at him.

“Whotcha want?” Ghost grunts, as few-worded as always, but there’s something in the way that Ghost looks at you that Johnny recognizes. It’s the way he looks at you too.

Ghost takes your order and then disappears into the back without waiting for Johnny’s order. Typical Ghost.

“So,” he says, if only to get your eyes off of Ghost’s retreating figure and back onto him. “Tell me about yourself?”

It’s the wrong question. The invitation to make this more than a transaction, to make it real, and it has your shoulders tensing and your hand dropping to your hip like you were itching for the familiar weight of your gun. 

Johnny hums, sweet and low and soft, holds up his hands like a surrender even though he knows he’d never give up on something as special as you.

“Doesn’t need tae be somethin’ big,” he tries, needling for any little thing you’re willing to offer up to him. His lips twitch into a grin with an idea, “Matter of fact, I’ll tell you somethin’ for everythin’ you tell me.”

There’s a spark in your eyes at that, at the promise of something to work with and Johnny has a lot of things he’d like you to work with actually. Matter of fact, if you wanted to bend him over the table and- 

“I’ve been a detective for three years,” you say, voice pulling Johnny out of his daydreams. He’d known that - had seen it on the background check they’d pulled on you. He’d been hoping for something more personal, something just for him, but it was a start. 

Johnny forces himself to grin like that was new information, “Betcha couldnae tell by the accent, but I was born an’ raised in Scotland. A little town near Glasgow.”

You nod, eyes focused like you’re filing away the information for later and Johnny can’t help the delighted little kick in his chest that you’re eager to learn about him too, even if you might currently be planning on using it against him. He’s just gotta persuade you that you’re better off at his side.

“Before I decided to join the force,” you start, and Soap leans in, enraptured by the idea of learning something new about you. “I was nearly killed by a drive-by shooter.”

Johnny sits back at that, flummoxed by the idea that he might never have known you. That he’d have never even known what he would’ve been missing.

“My friends call me Soap,” he says, trying to brighten the mood a bit. He can see the confusion as you process what he’d said. 

“Soap?” Shivers creep down his spine at the way you say his callsign. He wonders what it’d be like to have you talking him through a job on comms. How hard it’d be to focus on anything but the sound of your voice. “Why?”

“Cause ‘e’s got a dirty fuckin’ mind,” Ghost rumbles as he reappears, a plate balanced in each hand. He deposits your plate in front of you carefully before dropping Johnny’s in front of him unceremoniously. He looks between Johnny and you for a long moment before dragging over a chair from a neighboring table and sits on it backwards, crossing his massive arms over the back of it, pitch dark eyes fixed firmly on you. “What’s a nice lad like you doin’ with a punk like ‘im?” Ghost asks and Johnny would’ve been offended if he didn’t know that this was just Ghost’s way of playing.

You’re quiet for a few seconds, intense gaze fixed on Johnny. He does his best not to squirm.

“He promised he’d be worth my time,” you say finally and Soap wants to applaud you for it. It’s a perfect answer, really - ambiguous enough of a promise that you could just be two men out on a date if Ghost didn’t already know otherwise.

But Ghost did know. He had to. The only reason he’d be here doing something as menial as serving tables is if Price asked him to. And if Price asked… his eyes cut over to the blinking red light of the surveillance camera in the far corner of the room. His suspicions are confirmed by the barely perceptible nod Ghost gives him when he turns back to the table.

Great, he thinks, Not only are you interested in Ghost, but Price and Gaz are both watching. He feels like the three of you are on some stupid reality show.

Ghost lingers while you and Johnny eat, interjecting every now and then with some terrible joke or to tease Johnny, and Johnny is baffled by how easy this feels. He trusts Ghost with his life, has to in their line of work, but he’s never seen him this open before. Never as at peace as he is right now, sitting next to you and listening intently. Even that ever present tension has started to bleed out of his shoulders the longer he’s near you.

Johnny grins as a wicked thought pops into his mind. He feigns a sigh as he looks down at the emptied plates and pulls out the flash drive with the information he’d promised you. “Well, a deal’s a deal. Your time for my intel,” he says, dangling the flash drive temptingly. He waits until you move to grab it before closing his fingers back around it, “On second thought,” he says, grin spreading at the look on his face, “One last thing and then it’s all yours.”

You don’t seem surprised that he’s changing the deal on you, though you look resolute and he takes that as a good sign.

“I’ll give this to you,” he starts, grinning fiercely, “After you give us a kiss.”

You huff and Johnny’s glad he made sure you weren’t wearing a wire when you arrived. There was something so much more satisfying about knowing that this was all your decision and you weren’t just following orders as you lean in.

“Nuh-uh,” he says when you’re just inches away, amusement covering that twinge of disappointment at not being able to kiss you just yet. “Him first.”

Johnny’s not sure who’s more shocked, you or Ghost. You’re stunned, eyes darting between the two of them like you’re trying to puzzle out the pieces of him saying to kiss ‘us’ not just being one of those odd little colloquialisms. 

Ghost is paler than Soap’s ever seen him, dark eyes wide and wild at being thrust so suddenly into the spotlight and Johnny almost calls it off until he sees the way Ghost’s hands twitch, fingers flexing like it’s all he can do to not grab hold of you and not let go.

“C’mon love,” Johnny croons, trailing his fingertips along your jaw until he can hook them under your chin and turn your head to face Ghost, “Look ‘ow much ‘e wants it.”

You’re still for a split second longer before you take his encouragement and shift toward Ghost, trailing your hands over kilometers-wide shoulders and up until your fingertips brush the edge of his mask.

Johnny can barely hear the quiet “this okay?” that you ask Ghost before Ghost is telling you to close your eyes and ripping off his mask.

He’s on you in seconds, lips on yours like you’re fresh air and he’s asphyxiating and Johnny doesn’t even feel jealous because what a show. He can hear the slick of Ghost’s mouth against yours, can see just how tight he’s clutching at you, and he can see that you’re giving it right back - hands tight around Ghost’s jaw and up into his hair to keep him close to you, to keep him kissing you, and there’s this wounded gasp that leaves you when Ghost eventually pulls away, but he’s already got his mask back in place by the time your eyes open. 

Johnny’s quick to take his place, taking your face in his hands and tugging you in like he’s been aching to do for weeks. He can’t help the needy little sound that escapes him when your mouth is finally on his and he can feel you lean into - feels the sharp sting of your teeth against his lower lip and then the heat of your tongue against it right after. He can’t stop his hands from roaming, clutching at your hair, your shoulders, your ass - it’s like he’s starving for you, like he’ll never get another chance to touch you so he has to memorize every inch of you now but he wants to do so much more than memorize and there’s not enough time. 

Eventually he forces himself to break the kiss, though he knows he’d be perfectly content to spend the rest of time in your arms. 

“As promised,” he says, still catching his breath as he pushes the thumb drive into your hands. 

His heart warms at the second of hesitation before you turn and go and he’s quiet for a moment before he turns back to Ghost, who ditched the surgical mask in favor of his usual skull hood as soon as the door closed behind you.

“Super fuckable, right?” Johnny asks as he stands and starts to clear the table, if only to give himself something to do.

“Oh, absolutely,” Ghost agrees, joining him.

Johnny would be sad that the night had ended where it did, he thinks, if he didn’t know that the information on that drive would have you back in his arms within the next twenty four hours. No, once you learned that your dear chief of police, Shepherd, was compromised, you’d come running right to the 141 for help exposing him, and the bigger the ask, the higher the cost. You’d never be rid of them at this rate.

[undercoveravenger]

Room in The Den

Pairing: Hybrid!141 x Male!Reader

A/N: Intended as an early-stages poly relationship, but could also be interpreted as platonic.

Part 2 -> Click here

-----

It’s a bullshit new law that does it. Some asshole lawmakers deciding that just because there’s some small fraction of animal DNA in them that they can’t do their jobs right without “an actual person” watching over them that gets you assigned to the 141.

Sure, joining a team that elite is an honor, but it’s something you’d have wanted by your own merits, not just because someone who’d never seen real combat in their lives thought your new colleagues needed someone fully human to reel them in. 

You’ve seen their numbers - they don’t need you and you’re sure as hell they don’t want you encroaching on the bond that their experiences have fostered between them. That’s why you come in expecting the animosity. 

You were right. Captain Price is cordial enough, he shakes your hand without crushing it and says he’s eager to work with you but his smile doesn’t meet his eyes and the terseness in his voice tells you he’s just saying it to be polite. He’s run this task force long enough to know how to do his job without you there. His Lieutenant doesn’t even grant you that. The sergeants seem wary and you don't blame them but you know that it’s better to be someone like you that knows their worth than one of the holier-than-thou bureaucrats they’d been considering assigning to this post, so you’ll just have to try to find your place in the team.

-----

Soap is the easiest to win over. He finds you in the gym one night long after everyone else had retired back to their bunks, ripping through reps at the bench press without a spotter. He’s thrown for a minute, used to being the only one up this late since the rest of the squad is mostly diurnal, but he’s content enough to admire the way your compression shirt is darkened with sweat and to watch your muscles shift with each movement. Can feel himself drooling a little at the spice of your scent, heady and masculine and tempting enough to make him want to bite.

 He wonders a little, whether you’d be able to keep up with him and he can’t help the steady pace his tail picks up behind him as he decides he’s going to find out.

You’ve got your eyes closed and earbuds in like you’re the only one for miles and yet you still seem to sense him as he drops his bag and moves to stand near you. 

“S’dangerous,” he says as you re-rack your weights and pull an earbud out, “To lift without someone to spot you.” 

You nod, it’s one of the biggest rules of gym safety for a reason, but you’d never been great with rules. “Never much liked askin’ for help,” you admit after a minute. “Didn’t wanna bother anyone.”

He hums, and you don’t feel judged, just understood, “Well, you’re stuck with the lot o’ us now, whether you like it or not,” he grins, wolfish and happy, and moves to stand at the head of the bench to spot you, “Bother away.” And just like that, you’ve got yourself a new workout buddy.

It’s like he’s your self appointed shadow after that, waiting outside your door every morning with a freshly made protein shake in each hand, one for each of you. He’ll get all whiny about it too if you say no, pointy wolf ears drooping and tail falling still behind him. He looks like he’s about to cry until you finally relent and take yours from him (he perks up right away every time, the little faker). Eventually you learn that it’s easier to just take it from him without the fight and let him ramble on about whatever he’d seen on tiktok the night before as he walks you to your office.

He joins you for meals too, complains about the amount of food on your plate and scoops bites off his own plate to supplement yours despite your protests. His Ma had always told him growin’ up that he had to eat plenty of protein if he wanted to be big and strong and protect his pack, so he’s just tryin’ to do the same for you and doesn’t understand why you feel the need to argue about sharing food.

You’re part of his pack now, and Soap’ll be damned before he neglects one of his packmates, just don’t be surprised if he starts bullying his way into your room at night too - he’s a cuddler.

-----

Gaz warms up to you next, though he always blames the blood loss if someone asks what won him over. He’d joined you and Soap for your evening workouts a few times, and grinned at each other when you passed in the halls, but it’s not until the morning after a brutal op that he really starts to see you as part of the team.

It’s early. Barely three-thirty in the morning when the heli touches down and maybe only four when the squad tumbles through the doors but you’re right there with the rest of them. Price is already headed down to the administrative wing for a debrief and Ghost has a snoring Soap over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes on his way to the barracks, and then there’s just the two of you.

You’ve got one of Gaz’s arms over your shoulder and an arm heavy around his waist, tucked snug under his bleeding wing, taking most of his weight as you help him limp through the halls. You hang a left instead of the right that would lead to the infirmary, instead guiding him into your office. You sweep whatever paperwork had been on your desk aside, and help him up to sit, legs hanging off one side of your desk and wings cascading over the other.

You’re quick to shrug off the outer layer of your tactical gear and cast it aside, pulling out a sizable med kit from under your desk and settling on your knees in front of him. You ask him if it’s okay, before you help ease his cargo pants down enough to get to the wound on his thigh and he finds himself taken aback since their usual medic would just muscle them off or cut them away to get at it. You wait until he nods to start tugging at the fabric, fingers careful and intent as you work the material free from the torn flesh. 

He watches as your gaze flickers over the wound and you reach for what you need without even looking. He’s been told his eyes are intense before, it’s normal for bird of prey hybrids, perhaps especially so for golden eagle hybrids like him, but he’s never quite understood the way people describe being pinned in place by his gaze until now. 

You work fast, sterilizing, stitching, and then bandaging his wound with a speed that would rival the military doctors in the infirmary, and the stitches seem more sturdy than he can remember his last ones being. 

Once you’re satisfied with his leg, you stand and move behind him to get a better look at his wing. He'd taken a bullet to it, right through the meat of the muscle, and he knew he’d be grounded a long while until it healed. You hesitated then, unsure if he’d be okay with you touching such a personal area as his wings. 

Gaz swallows hard, trying to think of the last time someone other than himself had handled his wings, and nudges it back into your hands. You’re remarkably gentle, he thinks, as your fingers card delicately through rich caramel feathers until you’re able to uncover the bullet hole. You use a pair of tweezers, to make sure that there are no lingering bits of shrapnel, and a tiny set of scissors to trim back any of the soft downy feathers that could catch in the wound as it heals. 

He’s started churring by the time you’re done, a sort of contented trill from the feeling of someone else preening his wings, despite the lingering pain from the injuries. His golden eyes snap back to focus as you nudge a water bottle and granola bar into his hands with a muttered apology that it was all you had on hand, and he’s still plenty happy because you’re trying to be part of his flock by preening him and providing for him. He churs the whole while as you guide him back to his room and help him into bed.

Gaz quickly becomes a regular participant of you and Soap’s late night gym sessions and joins you for mealtimes once in a while after that night.

-----

Truthfully, you still don’t know what convinced Ghost you were worth knowing, but he supposes that’s because you hadn’t known he was there. He’d been on his way to deliver a mission report from Price to one of the other admin when one of his rounded ears caught the sound of your raised voice. His curiosity drew him to the door, cracked just enough that he was able to see you stood across a table from a trio of generals, arms crossed and back straight. 

“I appreciate your congratulations,” you growled, and Ghost was taken aback by the ferocity in your voice. He’d never heard you speak like that before, not even in the field. “But I am not the one who should be hearing it.”

His ears prick forward, tugging against the thick fabric of his mask as he listened closer, intrigued. 

“With all due respect, Major, task force 141-” one of the pencil pushers started.

“No,” you interrupted, hands coming down hard on the desk between you and the other officers, “They are due the commendations. They are the ones who built this team from the ground up. Sure, there have been successful missions since my joining, but those are not only my achievements. If you want to offer a public congratulations on a successful operation, it will be to my entire team, not just the picture you think would be easiest to publish.”

With that, you turn from the board of your superior officers and head for the door, ignoring their protests, and Ghost has to scramble back in order to avoid being hit with the door. 

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” you say as you see him, moving out of his way. “Didn’t see you there,” and for once that doesn’t sound like some slight against his panther genetics, just a plain statement - he’d been behind the door and you hadn’t meant to nearly clip him with it. You clap him on the shoulder and head off down the hall back toward your office and Ghost is tempted to drop the file where he stands to follow you, one simple interaction you hadn’t meant for him to see enough to convince him there was far more to you than he’d thought. 

You weren’t just some babysitter added to their little family to observe them like they were no more than wild animals - you actually saw their worth and were willing to fight for it?

An amused little huff escapes him and Ghost forces his attention back to the task at hand, spotted tail lashing smoothly behind him as he turns and continues on his way, sharp claws digging puncture wounds into the folder he’d been sent to deliver and your words ringing in his mind.  

----

Price was the last to come around to you being a part of their little family, though he’d never been outright hostile the way Ghost had at first. He’d done his best to be professional with you, complying with the needed paperwork and taking your insights on each operation under consideration, though he never deliberately sought you out. 

That didn’t mean he could avoid you when the team had a mission though, especially not now with the five of you piled into a much-too-small cabin in the mountains near where intel suggested one of Makarov’s bases were. Laswell had just radioed in to let Price know there was a snowstorm incoming so evac might be delayed and to expect to hunker down at least another two nights.

With only two bedrooms and a total of three small beds between them, you’d volunteered to take up roost on the lumpy couch in the living room so he’s not surprised to see you there, so much as he is by your company. You’re sprawled out in about the middle of the couch with Gaz tucked comfortably against your side, your arm around his shoulder and one of his wings curling around the both of you. As Gaz’s wing shifts, Price notices Soap curled against your legs, snoring away, but he freezes as he sees Ghost.

Everyone on the team has gone through hell, but Price knows Ghost has dealt with more than his share. Nightmares aren’t uncommon for any of them, but for Ghost a decent night’s sleep was an incredible rarity. That’s why he’s so startled to see Ghost stretched comfortably along the rest of the couch with his head on your lap and his face nuzzled into your stomach, skull mask gone in favor of his more casual balaclava, and his breathing deep and even.

A pleased little huff escapes Price, warmth spreading in his chest at the sight of his three favorite people curled up together happy and comfortable. And if you were part of that? Well, there was plenty of room for one more in that old bear’s heart.

[undercoveravenger]

Calm

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Male!Reader

Requested: No

Summary: Former barracks bunny Soap coming to terms with having feelings for you.

Warnings: Suggestive, but no actual smut

-----

Johnny MacTavish has always had too much energy for his own good. He’s always had a leg bouncing or fingers tapping or something to tear apart and put back together during briefings, always been running his mouth during transits, always bouncing from person to person because he’s just too much for one person to handle.

He’s had a handful of partners through the years that get close, but no one that’s been able to hold up against his stamina. It’s probably why he’d become something of a barracks bunny in the last few years, shacking up with anyone who catches his fancy for half a second in an effort to curb his libido but he just can't get the same enjoyment out of it that he used to. The enthusiasm of the rookies eager to get a taste of him or the punishing way someone from upper command bends him over just don't do it for him anymore. 

None of them bring that same satisfying ache that you do. 

It’s the sweet way you hold him during makes him feel like he's not just a problem. Not some chore to be tolerated and dealt with and then pushed to the back of your mind to be forgotten about. It makes him feel like he's whole for a little while, at least until he forces himself out of your bed to start gathering his clothes, stumbling his way back into his underwear and cargos on numb legs and wishing he'd hear you tell him to stay but knowing that he can't let himself.

He can’t turn around. Can’t bring himself to check if you’re watching him - hoping he’ll come back to bed. Or worse, what if you’d just rolled over and closed your eyes? Ready to wash your hands of him and let him leave the way he always does?

He pauses then, shirt in hands and pants unbuckled around his hips. You’re the one person who has ever treated him like this. The only one who never bustled him out as soon as the sex ended or pushed him to stay when he didn’t feel like it. The only one who actually wore him out enough that he didn’t feel like he needed to seek someone else out for another round before bed. You’d always been careful to check in with him. Always willing to at least hear him out if he asked to try something without pushing him if he said no to one of your own requests. Always asking if he needed anything from you after.

“Why?” The question escapes him unbidden and it takes him a moment to realize it even came from him. “Why,” he says again, eyes fixed on the way his knuckles go white from gripping his shirt so tightly, “don’t you ever ask me to stay?”

It’s clearly not something you’d expected him to say, not from how long the silence stretches between you. 

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.” You’re looking at him, Soap notices when he turns to face you, whether you were or not before, you are now. Lying sprawled on your side, with one hand propping your head up, and your eyes are fixed on his and he’s not used to the intensity - not used to someone looking at him like that instead of with wandering eyes even when he is trying to be serious. “Everyone’s always talking about how you don’t stay. That you just want a bit of fun and then you go.” You shift onto your back and your breath escapes you in a huff and Johnny can feel his chest squeeze fondly at the sound. “Doubted you’d want me pushing your boundaries.”

He’s not sure what to say about that. That you hadn’t asked because you didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. He’d known you were a pretty stand up guy - there was a reason you were the one sent in to deal with victims or newly recovered prisoners, something safe about you that even a stranger could see. 

“And,” he says slowly, forcing himself to continue despite the pit in his stomach, “What if I’d asked to?”

The smile that crosses your features brings an unconscious one to Johnny’s own lips, “Then I’d ask which side of the bed you prefer,” you said, simple and matter of fact. Like him staying wasn’t even something you’d have to think twice to be alright with. 

Johnny nodded slowly, butterflies racing in his stomach as he thought about his options. How he could leave and go back to his usual habits and pretend this never happened, or how he could see how this went with you. He steels himself, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than he ever has on an op as he drops his shirt and kicks his cargos back off, moving to settle beside you on the bed. “Left side’s fine,” he says, grinning as he tugged the sheets back up over the both of you and tucked himself tight against your chest. 

If it gets him more nights like this with you, Johnny thinks he could certainly get used to the calm.

[undercoveravenger]

Criminal Intent

Criminal!Soap x Detective!Male!Reader

A/N: Okay, first time writing for COD and it’s an AU with a probably very out of character Soap. This is potentially a continuing series with an option for poly!141 if you guys’re into it. Feel free to send requests for the 141 or for this au in the meantime

Part 2 -> click here

-----

It’s the silence that bothers him, really. He’s been in plenty of interrogation rooms with plenty of detectives sitting across him. He’s had officers beat him and bribe him and try to weasel information out of him a dozen different ways, but he’s never had someone quite like you.

The first thing that crosses his mind when you close the heavy door behind you is that you’re fine as hell. All strong jaw and pretty eyes and a white button up shirt stretched tight across a thick chest and broad shoulders and he just knows you could fold him in half if you wanted to. The next thing he notices is that you’re quiet. You settle into the seat across from him with spread legs and an open case file without so much as glancing at him and if he didn’t know you were trying to put his whole goddamn organization behind bars-

“Can we get this over with?” he finally says, if only to get you to look away from the fucking paperwork for a moment. 

Your eyes are almost bored when they meet his and Johnny’s just decided they’re his new favorite color when you speak and his brain about short circuits at the sound of your voice. “Oh,” you say, though you don’t sound surprised. He definitely does not think about the other ways he could get you to say that. Definitely not. “Ready to squeal?”

He swallows thickly, knows you want him to give up Price and Gaz and Ghost. “I’m no rat,” he says, lips curling up into that charming smile he’d put to use hundreds of times over as he leans in, “But I bet there’s plenty a’ other things you could do that’d get me squealin’.”

“Pass.” You don’t seem affected in the slightest as your eyes drop back to the folder in your hands, deft fingers flipping pages and his mouth waters at the thought of those fingers fisting into his hair. “I told them you wouldn’t be worth my time,” you said, tipping your head toward the one-way mirror that lined one edge of the interrogation room. “Too damn stubborn to get yourself a good deal in exchange for a little information.” 

He huffs, a little petulant from your disinterest, “Stubborn’s one word for it. Loyal’s another.” He puffs his chest out a bit. He knows he’s good looking, been told so all his life, so you’re either not into blokes, or you’re lying. “‘S a good trait for your future husband to have, ain’t it?” There it is, he thinks with a grin as your eyes shoot up to meet his, thrown off for the first time since you set foot in the room.

“Wha-” you cut yourself off, schooling your surprise back into that boring deadpan expression and Johnny almost pouts as you do. “That’s rather inappropriate.”

Johnny shrugs, leans forward to rest his forearms against the table, handcuffs clinking as he moves. His voice lowers to nearly a pur, “Could do some other things that’re inappropriate if you want? Wouldnae even have to take these off,” he jingles the cuffs pointedly. He tips his head toward the mirror, “Doubt you’d want your supervisors here for that though.”

Your pupils are slightly dilated when you look at him and he can see how tempted you’d be by him if he’d met you anywhere else. God, the things he’d do to you if you’d just wandered into the bar above the safehouse downtown - He shakes it off, knows he can’t let himself get distracted. Knows he just has to stall for time ‘til Price has his bail paid and he can disappear again. But the idea of getting closer to you? Of having you to himself, even for a little while? Oh, that’s a chance he can’t pass up, even if Ghost and Price’ll be pissed at him later.

“I’d think about a deal,” he finds himself saying, the words foreign on his tongue and he’s almost as shocked to be saying them as you look to be hearing them. “My time for yours. I won’t give you my boys, but I’ve got plenty more information that’d help you lot out that I could pass along if you agree to meet me when I’m out.” He continues, hand jerking forward to catch your chin and keep you from looking to the officers behind the mirror for guidance, to keep you looking at him and him only. “Just you. No backup, no wires, nothing. Just the two of us.”

He can feel your tension against his fingertips, can feel the way you ache to get approval from your higher ups before responding, a foxhound not used to being pursued by the fox without so much as a huntsman to guide you, can see the way your fingers tighten against the folder in your grip, knuckles nearly going white with the pressure. Can see the moment when your resolve cracks and you nod. It’s small and barely there, but you agreed all the same whether or not your superiors would’ve approved it.

You’re up out of your seat and crossing to the door as soon as he releases you and he knows what mess’ll be waiting for you but all he can think about is what it’ll take to draw you to him, to bring you close to his side and keep you there and how helpful it’ll be to have a soon-to-be former detective working for Price and his syndicate and how he’s going to have so much fun breaking you.

[undercoveravenger]

Hey, just a lil PSA, please don't go through every chapter of a fanfic you like calling the author a hoe and demanding faster updates. It's a good way to get yourself blocked and your comments deleted.

[undercoveravenger]

Fire & Ice

Pairing: Luke Riordan x Male!Reader:

Requested: Yes

Request: “hey since you are starting to write for gen v could I request Luke x ice power reader. Maybe his side effect is he loses his body heat every time he uses his power so he absorbs heat from other things. Luke comes in and sees his boo like that and just flames on and cuddles him”

-----

Training matches were nothing out of the ordinary at Godolkin University, especially when you were ranked as highly as you were. That didn’t mean you didn’t dread them any less.

You could feel the weight of dozens of people’s eyes on you as you stepped up to your opponent, some low-level speedster that had been gunning for your rank since they stepped foot on campus, always pushing at your boundaries and trying to taunt you into a fight to try to boost their own stats. Them prodding at your relationship was what finally pushed you over the edge.

Freezing cold spiraled from your fingertips up your arms, lacy snowflakes locking together and building up into thick sheets and spikes of ice around your hands and forearms, stacking into something between frozen boxing gloves and the gauntlets on a suit of armor.

The speedster seems taken aback for a moment, but still seems to think he can take you. The ref has hardly blown the whistle to start the match when they’re on you, one fierce punch after another coming from all directions as they speed around you. You’re taking the barrage, allowing them to get a few good hits in when your eyes lock with Luke out in the crowd. His eyes are narrowed, brows pinched in that severe way you know means he’s concerned about you, and his pretty perfect lips are turned down in a frown. You need to end this quickly, if not for your sake than for his.

You step forward with one foot, eyes fixed not on the speedster, but on where you know they will be in a fraction of a second. A thin sheen of ice spreads from your foot, glazing the ground in front of you, spiking sharply upward to form a wall as tall as you are just in time for your opponent to slam full-force into it. Their velocity being so suddenly stopped throws them off, sends them reeling long enough for you to throw one of your icy gauntlets into their chin in a brutal uppercut to their jaw and send them sprawling. The ref calls the match when your opponent is unable to stand.

You turn away then, ice beginning to melt and drip away as you approach the bench to grab your bag. Your fingers are trembling as the last of the ice crackles away, and the pins-and-needles feeling in your face tells you that your lips are probably already taking on a shade of blue from the cold.

Luke is there, already with your bag over his shoulder, eyes glinting just the lightest bit gold as he takes your hands in his, warming you with his powers as he starts tugging you away from the tournament arena, herding you quickly back to your room before you could be swarmed by your peers to congratulate you on the match.

He relents once he has you back to your room, letting go of your hands only long enough to help you out of your sweaty work out clothes and tug back the blankets on your bed for you to climb under. He deposits your bag next to your desk and slips under the blankets with you. Luke wraps his arms around you, using his powers just enough to help coax you back from the brink of frostbite.

You can feel the shivering starting to subside as your boyfriend helps you warm back up, your hands tucked between the two of you where you can feel his heartbeat against your palms. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly after a long while. “For this.”

You can feel a soft laugh rumbling through Luke’s chest as he curls closer to you, “Of course, sweetheart. If me getting to cuddle up with you helps you, then it's a win-win.” He’s quiet for a moment, before he continues, “I worry about you, y’know? That your powers hurt you like this. What if when you’re a professional hero you have to use your powers for too long and you actually get hypothermia or frostbite or whatever and we can’t fix it fast enough?”

You shrug. It’s crossed your mind before, sure. Ice powers are great and all, but you were still human - you got the negatives with the positives too. If you let yourself use your powers too long, you could freeze yourself over completely. 

“Good thing I don’t plan on letting you get too far away from me, huh?” You teased, sliding still stiff arms around your boyfriend to pull him closer. “I’ll be more careful,” you promised after a minute. Luke had been closed off with a lot of people for a long time, so now that he’s being open with you, you know you can’t just dismiss his concerns.

“Thank you,” he replies, arms tightening around you. You can feel the way his lips tug upward into a smile where they’re pressed against your forehead. His breathing slows against you as he relaxes and his anxiety eases. The beat of his heart slows, his arms still holding you close as sleep overcomes him.

When you had first started at Godolkin, you had expected the heavy course load. You had expected the training matches and the classes and the strain that mastering your powers would put on you. You had never expected Luke. You could’ve never expected to find someone who would mean so much to you, to go to all of your matches and worry about you and help you recover when your powers took too much out of you. 

It’s funny, you think, that the love of your life has fire powers while you have ice. Maybe it’s true, what they say about two halves making a whole - it certainly felt true right now with Luke curled up against you. You knew that you couldn’t be happier.