I've got that COD Brainrot

Oh, this one hurts in the softest way. Because I think the first day home is quiet.

Exhausted. Tender. A little surreal in that newborn way where the whole world looks exactly the same, except there is suddenly a three-day-old baby running the entire house.

And Phillip?

Phillip is trying so hard to look like he has it handled.

-

The hospital part is a blur to him.

Discharge takes forever. Or maybe it takes no time at all. He genuinely cannot remember.

He remembers papers. Instructions. A nurse explaining feeding times and diapers and temperature and safe sleep with the patience of a woman who has clearly seen terrified first-time fathers before.

He remembers asking too many questions.

He remembers you sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, moving slowly and carefully, still sore, still exhausted, still somehow more beautiful than he knew what to do with.

He remembers the baby sleeping through nearly all of it, rude and perfect, bundled in his little blanket with his hat slipping down his forehead.

His son.

That thought still catches in him.

His son.

Since you’ve all been so worried about Simon’s (and little Simon’s) well-being, I just wanted to reassure you that Johnny is taking very good care of them. Simon’s relief is immediately apparent!

You can find the uncropped image on Bsky or X.

inexperienced!simon riley who's never tried dirty talk before. most of his brief hook ups have been conducted in an almost awkward silence interspersed with grunts and heavy breathing.

but he's trying.

he's got your knees to your shoulders, slowly pushing in his cock inch by inch; watching the way your cunt stretches around him, leaves his length coated in your slick.

"christ, love, yer so wet… like a… like a fuckin' slip an' slide."

you laugh so hard your cunt clenches around him and his hips jerk, burying himself inside you with one final thrust as he cums, cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment.

𐔌 cw: size kink. .ᐟ

simon's riley cock so big you can take just a tip, he's aware of his own size, the thick, veiny girth with mushroom tip that no one could take before at all. even sucking him off is a real struggle, making your lips stretch uncomfortably, sensitive skin left torn in the corners, aching and stinging. so you found another way to make you both enjoy this.

not just with your palm, although he enjoys the feel of your smooth, tight fist stroking his warm cock, length pulsing and throbbing, beading precum down your fingers and knuckles. the sight is enough to make him near his orgasm, abdominal muscles tensing, rippling as simon grunts and moans. biting at his pale lip, hips bucking up to fuck in the tight squeeze.

rudy crown of his cock coated with beading, glistening drops of precum, as simon slaps his still hard shaft against the puffy, slick folds of your pussy. your hips squirming at the feeling, moaning short and sweet, and he shudders at both the feeling and the sight of you. spreading your pretty cunt, showing your pulsing, wet hole that waits for him, as he rubs down, smearing the tacky liquid from his length against your fluttering lips.

making you arch up into the feeling, grasp onto his forearm that is braced next to your head, nails sinking into the ink tattooed over his pale skin. his leaky tip breaches your hole, sinking along the snug, warm walls of your pussy, feeling every pulse and clamp that is already makes simon tremble. thighs tensing as they pump forward, sheathing in as much of his gorged girth as he can.

simon ruts in messily, unstoppable in his sloppy, frantic thrusts, groaning and grunting at the feeling, sweat dripping down his rippling back as he tenses against the tingling sensation. lightheaded to the point where his eyes turn opaque, pupils dilated, drunk at the fast approaching orgasm that pools low in his stomach. your mewling gasps a tumbling background to the rising, slick squelch of your cunt.

you both cling to this sparkling feeling, how good it feels, being so close to sink fully into your tiny, needy hole that clenches in rapid pulses around him. but simon has to hold back, calloused palm splaying across at your fattened clit, brushing a thumb over, rolling. it's enough to make your tight gummy walls clench down harshly, gushing unexpectedly, bringing him to his release faster than ever.

In the original post you mentioned that Ghost was "a man so empty he refused himself the dignity of a name".

Does he not care about what other people call him or does he not remember his own name (like how depression can affect memory and cause brain fog)

Would he ever share his name with Soap, when he starts caring about him?

👀👀 i love when people pull lines that make them think ohhhh i love it so much!!

bc ghost was involuntarily admitted to the ward after a welfare check, his intake information had nothing on it; no name, no age, no history, nothing. it was like he didn’t even exist. he was catatonic for the first week or so, staring at nothing no matter the stimulus, completely unresponsive to the doctors’ questions; he was aware, he could hear them, he was just so tired and so empty that he could barely make himself blink. speaking? completely out of the question

and wish it wasn’t so but medical professionals can be cruel, especially to those with “ugly” conditions. they start off calling him john doe, start off giving him the bare minimum of respect, but the longer he goes without responding to them and the clearer it became that he was choosing to ignore them, the more frustrated they became, the less they started to care about things like his humanity

it doesn’t happen immediately. he’s given other names first, insults and shorthands said behind his back; spoken less and less carefully until they don’t bother checking if he’s out of earshot. they go for the obvious; his body, the things he’s incapable of, the things he can’t conjure enough care to do, the things they see as him “forcing” them to take care of instead of doing them himself, as if he hadn’t been living in filth for as long as he could remember. it’s not until he manages to walk through the ward that a name finally sticks

he hears the sniggered inception, the malicious agreements. he doesn’t speak to anyone. he’s somehow silent on his feet despite his size. he floats through the halls almost unseen, ignoring anyone who happens to pass by him, to the point that it’s a guess if it’s on purpose or if he’s just so lifeless he can pass through the world without making any impact

he could leave this world and no one would notice

Dad bf!Simon, Like ruffling your hair, pats to the ass, checking your outfit all curt like that makes you feel all confident (lifting your chin up, fixing your shirt, kissing your forehead). Helping you calm down when you’ve got big emotions you can’t describe. Sitting you in his lap, rubbing your back.

Or telling you to “Watch your mouth.” When you get too smart. Or drawling out his words, “Coool it,” when you’re doing too much.

Doesn’t mind wrangling you up out of the truck and making you apologize to the rest of the 141 after being a brat for half the night, drawling out your name, a warning, leans against the hood. The much needed cigarette already to his lips. And you’re a hiccuping and babbling mess while you apologize, it’s all embarrassing because it not like you. You know that, but it’s all too much, tears burning your cheeks as they fall.

You wipe your tears with your wrists, eyes glancing at Simon and more tears building up. Letting out the littlest meek of ‘Dad’

He’s scuff, one end of his lip curving upward, “Fuckin hell, come ‘ere.”

You’re lucky you’re cute, adorable and his, gently tugging you into his chest by the back of your neck. Letting your feet stumble as they catch up to himhim as your sons get muffled into his shirt. Poor thing doesn’t even know what’s wrong with you, Simon does though.

“Kids just stressed, lil things more than tired.” Simon explains to the men who are all ‘aww’ing’, talking as if you’re not there. Just small, by his side.

“Still got her workin mate?” Gaz asks.

“‘F she likes it, ‘f it’s too much I’ll pull the plug…” his thumb rubs your nape, feeling his arms wrap around you, voice coming out so much softer, “But… can’t say no to ‘er.”

They're friends, damn good friends. They've known each other for years. After a certain point, they got so comfortable with each other that they can just say something completely unhinged and it wouldn't derail the conversation.

They threaten to fight each other, they threaten to fight other people for each other. Ghost once punched Price in the gut for stealing a crisp, Price once kicked a chair leg so hard that Ghost's chair collapsed. They both know the most devastating secrets about each other and threaten to tell people, but they never will. They can make the other laugh with a look, piss each other off just as easy.

Briefing room lights low, projector casting shifting blue-white glow across the long table. Price stood at the front walking the team through the latest op intel. Soap was leaning forward, scribbling notes and occasionally interjecting with his usual chaotic enthusiasm. Gaz sat beside you, arms crossed, focused.

And you… you were seated directly across from Ghost, trying- fucking desperately- to remain professional.

Hands clasped tightly in your lap under the table, knuckles popping, spine ramrod straight, thighs pressed together so hard the muscles trembled. Your cunt, however, was a soaked, throbbing mess.

Because Ghost had your portal pussy strapped securely over the lower half of his face, hidden beneath the balaclava, pressed flush to his mouth. He was relaxed in his chair, gloved hands resting loosely on the surface, heavy lidded eyes fixed forward with that signature dead stare.

No one noticed the subtle, rhythmic shift of his jaw beneath the fabric.

No one saw the way his eyes fluttered half closed for a split second every few minutes.

No one could possibly guess that Simon Riley was eating your pussy like a man with a terminal oral fixation. Tongue moving in broad, flat strokes under the mask, dragging from your dripping entrance all the way up to your swollen clit.

Lapping at you lazily, savoring the taste that coated his tongue and chin, swallowing every fresh gush of slick with a quiet, satisfied hum that no one else could hear. Circling the sensitive bud, sucking it gently between his lips and sending low vibrations straight through to your cunt.

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood when another wave of pleasure rolled through you, cunt clenching hard around nothing, leaking more arousal that Ghost eagerly drank down.

You tried to keep your breathing carefully controlled, slow inhales through your nose, but your cheeks were flushed, and you could feel sweat beading at the small of your back.

Ghost’s cock was rock hard and leaking steadily into his pants, thick length straining painfully against the zipper as his tongue pushed deeper, curling to stroke that spongy spot inside you that always made your vision spark white at the edges.

Price gestured at the screen. “Ghost? Thoughts on the exfil?”

Simon lifted his gaze lazily, voice coming out gravel rough and perfectly even from behind the mask. “Solid. No notes.”

The moment Price turned back to the slides, Ghost doubled down, sucking harder on your clit, tongue flicking rapidly, then slowed to lazy, teasing circles that had your hips twitching involuntarily in your seat. You gripped the edge of the table, forcing your face into a neutral expression while your poor, oversensitive cunt fluttered and pulsed against his mouth.

Every time your walls started spasming harder and your thighs began to shake, he’d pull back just enough to lap softly at your folds, letting the intensity fade until you were no longer right on the brink. Then he’d dive back in, tongue fucking you, sucking your clit, humming those deep vibrations that made your eyes nearly roll back.

By the third orgasm he ripped from you, your cunt was puffy, swollen, dripping down his chin beneath the mask. By the fourth, you were fighting not to whimper out loud, biting your lip bloody.

You were a wreck, legs trembling under the table, panties long since ruined, core clenching uselessly. Every slow, wet lap sent sparks up your spine. Every suck on your clit made your vision blur. You wanted to moan his name, to beg him to let you come properly, to spread your legs and let him bury his face for real.

Ghost knew it. And the bastard was enjoying every second.

When the briefing finally wrapped and the team started filing out, Soap clapped Ghost on the shoulder with a “You alright, Lt? Lookin’ a bit focused today.”

Ghost remained seated a moment longer, voice low and slightly hoarse as he replied, “Never better.”

His eyes locked onto yours across the now emptying room.

You stood on shaky legs, trying to walk normally as you gathered your notes. The portal was still pressed to his face. He still hadn’t stopped. Even as people left, his tongue continued its slow, torturous circles around your oversensitive clit, occasionally dipping inside to curl against your walls.

As the last person disappeared through the door, Ghost finally rose from his chair, and crossed the room in two slow strides until he was standing right in front of you, mask still firmly in place.

His gloved hand came up, tilting your chin so you had to meet his eyes.

“Been such a good girl fer me,” he murmured, voice rough and thick. “Sitting there all while I ate this pretty cunt. Didn’t make a sound.”

A low, hum rumble vibrated through his chest.

Sorry if it sounds broken, english is not my first language.

Headcanon accepted and adopted!!

Retired!Price is genuinely a bear. Ive said it once I'll say it again, the man can eat food thats supposed to last weeks in an HOUR.

Hes constantly in the kitchen, in just low rising sweatpants with no boxers. He barely owns a pair now, thick dick imprint very clearly protruding 24/7.

His shirts are all stretched out, beard grown out, hairier now that he isnt in the sas anymore.

He naps like a bear too, wakes up at 11am, breakfast, 1pm till 5pm? Nap time. Always wakes you up with his boner pressing against your ass, his gravelly voice rang in your ears. "Just lemme fill you up once luv."

One orgasm, turns into 2, turns into 4 and then 6. He may be retired but he still has his stamina.

He's upgrades his cigar collection too, rows filling up his shelves in the basement.

John also spends his time watching your, paint your nails, wash your hair, rest, scrolls tiktok with you, at some point he's figured out your favorite chocolate brand and stuffed the freezer full of it!

content: SMUT MDNI, basically just Soap being obsessed with your tits, f!reader

Boobs. The answer is boobs. Soap loves them, your boobs especially. In fact, he loves them to the point of worship.

He practically drools when you wear lowcut tops and dresses, no matter how much cleavage is on show. Just a sliver is enough to get him hard. He loooooves leaving hickeys across your chest and seeing them peek out from beneath your clothes. And if you wear necklaces - or better yet, his dog tags - that nestle in the valley between your breasts? Yeah, he's dragging you to the nearest bathroom to take care of the problem in his pants.

When you're at home, your tits are never safe from him. If you're cooking or washing up, he'll come up behind you, pressing sloppy kisses to your neck while his hands slip under your shirt to grope at you. If you're lying on the couch, he's gonna bury his face in between your tits and use them as a pillow. He loves when you shower together or share a bath so he can lather you up, focusing on your chest for longer than necessary.

Cowgirl is his favourite position purely for the view. His pupils will be blown out wide as he watches you move above him like some sort of goddess. He'll either be reaching up to grab handfuls of your flesh, or leaning in to lavish them with his mouth. Likes to pinch and suck your nipples until you squirm. You gave him a boob job one time and he barely lasted a minute. Not that you minded.

So, whenever Soap answers that question with what you know is a lie, you silently roll your eyes. He's a boob man everyday of the week.

Honestly, you don't know what you were thinking when you decided to go for a late night run, but getting pulled off the side of the road and tossed into a truck should've been expected.

The drive was... well, you don't really know how long you were blindfolded, but the constant bumping and jostling means a dirt road. The first few hours of captivity are a blur of pain and crying and tears and a lot of blood from your leg.

Your missing leg.

Ghost bandages you up, keeps you fed and warm when you quietly speak up, voice shaking as you try not to look at the stump of bloody bandages.

"Wh-why are you doing this?"

His eyes sweep over you, patting the rag against your sweaty forehead with such gentle care. He doesn't answer you, but as you shiver from the cool breeze coming in through the window, he pulls the blanket up to your chin.

Time passes weirdly. Between the odd meal hours, and the fact you keep passing out from pain and blood loss, you're not able to accurately gauge how long you've been here. Ghost hasn't cut off any other limb yet, but there's dried blood under your entire body, evidence of previous people.

Your hopes of rescue dwindle by the hour, and eventually, routine sets in. At dawn, Ghost leaves the cabin with a simple look towards the straps around your wrists and ankle. He returns several hours later, usually with some small dead animals, or sometimes with take out food (your favourite order too). He feeds you the food, wiping you clean with whatever rags he has, but never slipping into your pants.

By the ninth day (if your guessing is right), you finally gain the courage to speak again. You wait for him to come back with food, a few rabbits tied around his waist, before tugging slightly on the leather straps holding you down.

"C-can we go for a walk?"

Ghost's eyes turn dark with distrust, hand wrapping around the cleaver on the table, metal glinting in the light of the lamp. Betrayal is written all over his face, genuine and almost scared.

"I'll need help to walk... ma-maybe you could carry me?"

You don't want to die. Sure, you didn't exactly have anyone that would miss, except for a fish that your neighbour takes care of more than you. But you'd like to think someone is missing you, that your presence has made a difference in someone's life.

Except, as you lean your weight into Ghost's side, his arm holding you up by the waist, you can't stop your body from leaning into the warmth of him. He's the only human contact you've had in over a week, maybe more if you haven't kept a good track, and the solitude is painful. Even with his hand wrapped tightly around the chain that hooks to a leather collar, keeping you close to him at all times when you shift to using a crutch, you feel the freedom he's allowing you.

You're not sure why Ghost has spared you, and distantly, you wonder if death would be better. But when he turns his back to lock the door, hands fiddling with the metal padlock and chain, you don't run. Your eyes scan the horizon, the beautiful forest, the smoke of a campfire rising not too far away, and your attention focuses on it. The smoke, still dark and probably two or so miles away, rises above the trees like a beacon. People are out there in those woods, humans that have phones or maybe weapons.

"They shouldn't be having a fire in the woods, it's the dry season."

Behind you, Ghost smiles with a proud satisfaction, sliding up next to you and unhooking the chain from your collar.

CW: MDNI (NSFW) — König and how pathetically submissive he is

—

You’d always said how König had the prettiest eyes.

But fuck, if they aren’t even prettier when you’re sat on his cock and he’s looking up at you all fucked out and submissive.

You’d been at it for a little over an hour and a half now, bouncing on his fat cock like you were determined to drag him to the brink of madness.

You’ve absolutely succeeded.

Those blue eyes glazed over, pupils blown, sweat beaded on his forehead even though he’s put in little work. Sweet little whimpers and whines leaving his lips with every clench and glide of your wet walls.

Big hands gripped at your waist, fingers dug into your supple flesh like he had to use you as an anchor.

He’d already come three times, the glide of your cunt up and down his cock so slick and wet with the mix of your fluids. Creamy seed leaking out of you, pooling around the base of his cock. The plap plap plap of your bouncing obscene and loud in the quiet of your room.

“Schatzi- Please- I-I can’t- Don’t stop-“

“S-So good- I’ll be good for you-“

Begging and pleading. Telling you he’s too overstimulated but he keeps chanting don’t stop please as if you’re his lifeline.

His hips buck up weakly every now and again when you sink down fully on his cock, hips rolling so his cock stirred inside you. All his focus is on the blissful clench of your pretty pussy, the way you’re dwindling him to nothing but a pitiful mess.

He doesn’t have the ability to even tell you when his next orgasm rolls through him. His body tensing, stomach clenching as his hips jerk up sporadically. Cock jerking inside you as spurts of his creamy seed fill you once again. Babbling nonsense because he’s so fucked out.