Ghost knowingly buys a haunted house because he needed a place to live and by this point he didn't care if it was haunted. But, instead of harassing him or making living there hell, the spirit actually is very helpful. It does the dishes, helps find things that Ghost had misplaced, is far better than any guard dog that Ghost has ever owned, and is a decent companion. Though there was a messy incident involving the dishwasher overflowing with suds, which led to the affectionate name Ghost gave the spirit.
I saw ur prompts post and wanted u to write the second one with 141 +konig while they're on a mission or accidentally hurting the reader during training (not any super serious injuries tho) would appreciate it 💖💖.
400 Follower Celebration
—“C’mere, let me see.”— With 141 + König
Summary: These are different situations where you get mildly to moderately injured and 141 + want to see.
[WARNINGS: descriptions of killing, mild gore, mild/moderate physical injury, fluff.]
-> John Price
“You need to work on your technique.” He huffs out, standing victorious on the training map. Price’s hands remain on his hips as you’re still crouched over on the mat, one hand holding you up while the other is covering your mouth and noise.
You don’t respond to him, instead you peel your hand from your face, glancing at it and then you cover whatever you’re covering right back up. You moved so fast Price didn’t catch onto what was in your hand, so his eyebrows furrow. His hands drop from his hips, approaching you. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine,” You say with a strained voice, muffled by your hand cupping your face. Price raises an eyebrow, not believing you. He crouches down, using one knee to balance himself. Price puts a hand on your back and the other grabs your wrist gently. “C’mere, let me see.”
You allow him to pull your hand away from your face and Price sputters when he sees the amount of blood in your hand. “Jesus bloody Christ!” He curses, letting go of your hand and grabbing your jaw, forcing you to look at him. Your eyes are watering from the pain and there’s blood dripping from your nose, smeared across your lips. John then stands up, murmuring, “Let me get you a towel and then get you to medical, yeah?”
-> Kyle Garrick
“Fuck!” You shout, your voice cracking. You grimace as pain blooms across your right arm, but you ignore and opt to shove the blade of your knife into this man’s throat. He begins to choke, wide eyed, his hands grabbing at yours. You yank the blade out of his neck and blood splatters over your face and clothing, and the man drops to the ground whilst holding his throat, red hot blood pouring through his fingers.
You pant and stare down at the man, adrenaline rushing through your veins. You barely acknowledge the deep gash in your arm besides a heartbeat residing in it’s place. Heavy footsteps come down the hall and into the corridor, Kyle shouting your name. “Hey, hey! Are you alright?” His voice is dripping worry, glancing at the man and then at you, his eyes widening when he sees all of the blood.
“Yeah, it’s.. it’s not mine.” You breathe out, ripping your eyes off of the bloody corpse in front of you. Your left hand skims over your right arm and—yep, there it is; you hiss in pain and cover the wound with your fingers. Your hand is trembling from the adrenaline, which combined with the noise, catches his attention.
“Are you hurt?” Kyle asks, his voice firm as he grabs your arm, his other hand grabbing your wrist. “C’mere, let me see.” Kyle moves your hand and grimaces for you, a small hiss coming from him. “Yep, definitely injured.” His thumb gently swipes at some of the blood coating your skin. “Let’s get you somewhere safe and get you some stitches.”
-> John MacTavish
You grunt as Soap’s arms are wrapped around your head with his legs locked around your waist and own legs, his forearm pressing against the front part of your throat. Your heart is pounding in your ears and you vaguely hear Soap teasingly shout, “Do you need to tap out?” You don’t respond as you struggle, trying your best to rip the man’s arms off of your head and throat. Your fingers grab at his flexing forearm, using all of your upper strength in an attempt to pry him off of yourself. “No shame in tappin’ out, bonnie..” His voice is low and cocky, tightening his hold around your help.
Being the stubborn person you are, you refuse. You attempt to gasp and you can feel your lungs heaving for air, your chest spasming. You close your eyes harshly as you don’t want to stare at the black dots swimming in your vision. In a last attempt to get him off, you buck your head forward—but your plan fails and you end up busting your lip open.
“Steamin’ Jesus-“ Soap’s tone is shocked as he immediately loosens his grip, giving you a second to gasp for air. You take this opportunity and use all of your weight, pushing Soap off of yourself. You ignore your bleeding lip and grab his arms, twisting them behind his back and you sit right on his legs, earning a grunt from him. “Hey- fuck, are ya bleedin’??” Soap grunts out, twisting his head to look at your face. His own lip curls up in concern, his eyes narrowing at you. You release your grip on him and crawl off of him, your fingers brushing against your lip. You wince, muttering, “Yeah.”
“C’mere, let me see.” Soap sits up and crawls over to you, cupping your cheek in one hand, the other balancing himself. “Ah, just busted it a bit. Guess that’s a lesson ta’not do that then, hm?”
You’re cooking some breakfast for Ghost while he’s on vactional-leave, humming in the kitchen. One hand is grabbing the handle of the pan, the other holding tongs over the pan, flipping the crackling bacon. You get so caught up in your time playing softly from your phone a few feet away that you forget to be careful and the bacon pops at you, hot grade covering a small patch of your arm. You can’t help the loud yell that leaves your mouth followed by a loud “Fuck!”
You hear his heavy footsteps coming down the hallway in a quick fashion, grumbling out loudly, “What happened?” Despite his grumbles, you know he’s concerned, especially when you’re holding your arm, you blink and he’s across the room—you blink again and he’s next to you. “Bacon got me,” You whimper out quietly, the humming of the pain and heat radiating through your skin.
“C’mere, let me see.” Ghost’s voice is low and rumbles through the air, crackling like fire with how rough it is. His large gloved hand takes your arm into it and allows you to uncover the grease burn yourself. Ghost gently pulls towards himself, grabbing under your arms and lifting you onto the counter. He reaches over and turns the stove top off, moving the pan to a cool burner. “Hey- what about the food?” You say softly, watching as he goes through a small drawer and grabs a small hand towel. “That can wait. We have to treat this before it gets worse.”
You’re running an endurance and strength training course when you get hurt. You do fine on the pull ups, the rope swing, but when you reach the tire hops? Your ankle ends up catching on the edge of the tire, a yelp leaving you as your ankle twists in an awkward way, sending waves of pain radiating up your leg. Your arms end up catching your body before you fully face plant and you pause for a moment, your whole body tensing up as swift swears leave your lips.
You hear your name being called and heavy footsteps against gravel before a pair of large hands gently grab you. “I-I saw you fall, Kumpel. Are you alright?” His voice is light with worry, and he moves downwards to softly dislocate your foot from the tire. You groan as soon as he touches your leg and you shake your head. “Fuck, that hurts—it’s my, my ankle..”
“C’mere, let me see.” He’s gentle when he gets your leg out of the fire and he quickly unties your boot. König helps you flip over to lay on your back with your leg in his lap. He slips off the boot with a hiss coming from you, making him quietly apologize as he removes your sock. Your ankle is swollen, but definitely not broken, nor dislocated. “It is a good idea to see the medics. I’ll carry you.”
cw: my simon riley favoritism is popping off again, werewolf au, heavy themes of breeding, 🪢, you know what it is, you know what you're here for.
forgets heats are a thing until he's going through it. he was able to shrug most of them off, the military having trained him well enough to work through them. unfortunately its much harder now that he's mated to you
wants to be around you more than anything else.
notices himself getting irritated at much smaller things. he's getting downright dirty in training, slamming his sparring partners into the ground. No one wants to train with him when he's like this
doesn't get very hungry during his ruts but is very adamant about feeding you. hunter gatherer brained. provide for my partner brained
"gotta be well fed to hold all my pups, yeah?"
pretty lethargic overall. breed, eat, sleep, breed, eat sleep. doesn't stray far from these steps since he puts all of his energy into making sure you're well and bred.
bite and scent marking. he knows you can't be with him 24/7 despite his want for you to be. but he can make sure no one is sniffing too close to you. very obvious bite scar your shoulder.
as soon as you get home he's nipping at your heels to get you to the bedroom, or at least bent over the couch.
won't even complain if you have to put the muzzle on him for getting to bitey. as long as you're giving your body up to him, ⁰he'll do whatever you want
pulls you against his hips at all hours of the day. if you let him, he'll fuck your thighs and push his cum in with his fingers. doesnt use his fingers usually because of the claws, may gather it up on the tip and push it deep into your hole. doesn't have to knot you to breed you ♡
if you muzzle him, it only stops him from biting. he's licking your skin through the metal grate, drooling over your back
unfortunately his claws cannot be contained unless he's tied at the wrists. he also allows this, but much more begrudgingly
selfishly he loves having his claws pressed into your plush hips. threatening to sink into your jugular when he holds you by the neck, grazing over your bite mark
aint too proud to beg
"c'mon sweetheart.. you can go one more can't you?"
if you keep him without the muzzle, he's even more of a fiend
cold nose pressing against your sensitive skin, rough tongue digging into every inch of your drooling holes. hearts in his eyes when he looks up at you from his place between your legs. has a terrible habit of nipping all of your overstimulated skin.
tail wags when your hands drift to hold his massive werewolf head in place. scratch behind his ears, and he rumbles moans into your skin.
lots of foreplay because oh no his knot is huge. a lot like Captain Price in the way he was bred to breed. knows he's gigantic in comparison to your human body so he really does try to be easy on you
it's so cliche, but he can't give up doggy style. crouched behind you, pushing his knot in. inch by inch, thrust by thrust. splits you open, growling from deep in his chest. he knows you feel it w his chest pressed flush against your back
bunny-extract got me thinkin about headlocks too, lord- his big, panting muzzle right next to your head, spinning with pleasure. his giant bicep is constricting the blood to your head until youre getting tunnel vision looking up at him. encourages you to hold tight to his arm
"you can take it all, come on. thats it."
doesn't stop the steady push and pull of his hips even if your walls are firmly clamped around his knot. shallow thrusts that are more of a needy grind.
you always say it's too much, reaching behind you to paw at his abdomen, pleading with him to slow down on stuffing you so full. but you always relax your body enough for him to fit his knot, albeit a tight fit. holds your arms behind your back if you're really squirming
loses control of himself easy, especially with your small hands clutching his arms, his shoulders. running on instinct alone
get pregnant get pregnant get pregnant
"everyone is gonna know you're mine when you're carrying my pups."
"you like that?"
whimpery and whiny when he's leaking his spend into you. toothy nibbles against your bite mark. scent marks you when he's buried to the hilt in your walls. nuzzling his muzzle and neck all over you, drowning your scent in his own.
wants to sleep. sleep sleep. doesn't let you leave the bed. you're not going anywhere when he's knotted with you. he is literally ready to fall asleep, cock plugging your twitching hole
licks and nurses any scratches, scrapes and abrasions. he apologizes and he means it, but he secretly loved how you wear his bites like a badge of honor.
— warnings: tooth rotting fluff, purely sfw except for like one sentence, cuddling, civilian!reader, reader and simon are married, soft!ghost, mentions of trauma, descriptions of simon's face based on my headcanons
— summary: simon does not want to get up in the morning.
— word count: 1k
a/n: this is purely self indulgent ngl
Having a military husband wasn't ever easy. Especially a special forces husband, for that matter. But you knew what you were getting yourself into when you married Simon, and you've never regretted it even one bit. The man's a great soldier, but an even better husband. Of course you always terribly miss him when he's away on deployment, carrying out his duty, but that makes the time you spend together during his leave even more precious.
Right now would be one of those precious, priceless moments. It's a Sunday morning. The night prior the two of you had fallen asleep in your shared bed while cuddling. Your heart almost melted when you woke up just to discover your snoring hubby still laying on your chest. It's rare to see Simon resting well and sleeping through the night. Since you moved in together his sleep drastically improved, but his nightmares still haunted him too often. Simon has seen things the average human couldn't even begin to imagine, and those horrifying memories came to terrorize him at late hours. You hated waking up in the middle of the night to hearing his frightened sobs and seeing him tremble in fear. You loathed watching him suffer. During those nights there wasn't much you could do, except for holding him and hoping he'd fall asleep again in the safe embrace of your arms soon. Therefore knowing that he was getting some good sleep today overjoyed you.
You took in a deep breath. Your bedroom smelled good. Simon's shampoo, the laundry, and the fresh morning air. Your favorite scents. Underneath the blankets it was comfortably warm, and it was pleasantly quiet as well. No traffic noises, only Simon's calm and steady breathing. In the distance some cooing pigeons and cawing crows could be also heard, distorted by the wind's howling and leaves rustling. But you didn't pay any attention to the singing birds, as you took in the beautiful sight in front of you. Simon's scarred face wasn't tense like it usually is, every muscle of his looked peaceful and serene. Carefully, as not to wake him, you caress his cheek and trace your thumb over the healed battle scars. His eyelids and gorgeous blonde, long eyelashes twitch at the contact. Many of the people who knew him, or least claim to, wrongfully assume that he wears the mask to hide his scars, but you knew better. He wanted to hide himself, he wanted to hide Simon. In fact, he doesn't wear the mask when he's home, only when he's deployed. With the small exception of wearing a plain black surgical mask in public places, of course. And you can say from experience that Ghost and Simon are very different, in a lot of ways. Body language, vocabulary, behavior and in bed. You adored both of your husband's personalities. Ghost was an enigma, an intriguing (and slightly terrifying) character. But that's all Ghost is. A character. Your heart truly only belongs to Simon, and every time he slips that skull mask on, it's unnerving how quick he's gone, as if he never existed. That's one of those things you're never gonna get used to.
Moving your hand to his short, dirty-blonde hair, which is slightly darker than his eyelashes, you begin to massage his scalp gently. It's his favorite way to wake up, and to fall asleep. As you increase the pressure you apply to his skin, he begins to groan softly and his eyes flutter open.
"Good morning, beautiful."
"Morning...", he scans his surroundings. One of the many military habits he just can't turn off, not even when he's not on the job. "I drooled again, sorry...", he mumbles, in that deep morning voice that just makes you want to devour him. You glance at your pajama shirt and the tiny wet spot of spit.
"I didn't even notice. No worries, baby.", you smile at him. Never could such a mundane thing bother you. Secretly, you found it somewhat cute. Your big 'scary' husband drooling while you scratch his head. How comical and endearing, surely you're the only person to ever witness him like this.
"I don't deserve you."
"You know I don't like it when you say stuff like that, Si.", you reprimand him gently.
"But it's true."
"No, it's not."
You keep massaging him as he rubs his head against your chest. The circular motions of your fingertips is the most soothing sensation the battle hardened man has gotten to experience in his rough life time. Your tender touch is his remedy, his medicine. His cure. Simon's sore and broken body falls apart under the physical contact, and he's putty in your hands. Practically reduced to a sleepy cuddlebug, needy for your affection and attention.
As your husband finds himself on cloud nine, you begin to feel a bit crushed. Not in an emotional sense, but in a more literal way. Simon's heavy. He's about 6'4 tall and weighs more than 220 lbs. 220 pounds of pure muscle, making him better than any weighted blanket out there. However, after his whole weight has been laying on top of you for the entirety of the night, it's starting to get a bit uncomfortable and hot. Not hot as in "sexy", he's just a living hot water bottle. Usually Simon's body temperature is a bit below average and his hands are always freezing cold, but as soon as he slips under the covers, he's as warm as a hot tub. Comes in handy during the winter, but right now it's starting to make you sweat.
"Si, you need to get up.", you coo at him. Silently, he shakes his head in protest.
"Gosh, you're such a big baby.", you tease, trying to feign annoyance, but your eyes are full of love and ultimately betray you.
"Please, Simon. You're crushing me. I'll make you breakfast if you let me go."
The blonde man doesn't budge.
"I'll even make tea. Earl Grey. Your favorite..."
Simon perks up, his drowsy brown eyes gazing directly at you, and for a second you think you've won.
"No, your tea tastes like shit. And I don't even like Earl Grey."
"Rude!", you flick his nose with your index finger in retaliation, and he barely flinches. "You can make your own breakfast then."
He smirks at your empry threat, chuckling when he feels your heartbeat speed up. "You love me too much to let me go hungry."
"You little shit.", you say, irritated by his banter so early in the morning. But you know what he's saying is nothing more or less than the truth.
"Just five more minutes, okay?", he nuzzles his cheek against your chest once more, seemingly with no intention to get up anytime soon, despite his claims.
141 is made up of human experiments. They were supposed to be destroyed but it was decided they could be put to use as weapons. Laswell is their handler, she's meant to keep an eye on them and if they get out of hand she's supposed to kill them. But... the thought of killing them didn't bother her when she didn't know them. Before she befriended Price, before she spent time with Ghost or supervised Soap and Gaz at a carnival. They were so human, full of light and wonder. Now she's desperate to make sure her bosses never see the need to have them killed.
It was often you spent nights alone in your house; although two live here, only one often occupies the space. You work a regular job while your boyfriend works in the military—König isn’t home too often, so you’re used to sleeping on the giant mattress alone. You would have gotten an animal by now, but certain animals make König anxious due to their usage out on the field. He tries his best to leave his job at the door so he can come back home to you be the one you need, but it can be hard.
A good way he settles down is relaxing, whilst either being held or holding you. König uses you to ground himself to a different reality he must live in to survive in the field. Your house isn’t too big, but when König’s gone? It’s massive to you. Spending your nights alone unless maybe you call a friend over, but that’s rare. You see your home as your space, as his space.
You’re sleeping peacefully on your bed, using König’s pillow with your arms wrapped around it. A thick blanket lays over you that’s also König’s, and of course, to add it on top; you’re wearing his clothes. What can you say? You miss him. You’re awoken by a heavy dip in the bed and large arms being wrapped around you, and you automatically wake up and assume it’s König, greeting the once quiet air with a soft “hmm?”
You hear a quiet and raspy voice shush you, “Go back to sleep, baby, it’s okay.” He sounds absolutely exhausted, his heavy arm limp around you. You hum again and slowly flip over to the other side, digging your head into his warm chest, your arms wrapping around him too. You don’t say anything as you let him melt against you, and you slowly drift back to sleep, faster than you usually do because you sleep well when he’s near.