#cod mw2 hc

[pansexualhousecat]

sexuality headcanons for my boys 🫡

[corpsebridx]

I know stupid questions, but do you guys enjoy about my Cod mw2 hc?

(If I’m not right with anything pls let me know)

[dmitriene]

cw: könig is a weirdo and reader match him.

könig likes pretty things, young and vulnerable dolls that bat their eyelashes prettily at him, wrapping their dainty hands around his thick bicep, trailing beside him despite his perverse touch, letting him lure them to his messed bed in some dark apartment, fuck their brain silly.

it's always a one time thing, könig ain't good for a long term relationship because of the bitter need to posses that been festering in him from the start, they just use each other, he has a lovely built body that makes girls salivate, and he packs a cock that is too thick you able to feel the ache even the next morning while trying to escape his apartment.

it's not the same with you, könig notices it by the way you cling to him while he punches his fat cock in your tight pussy, shallow thrusts of his wide hips making his thick cockhead pummel into your spongy spot, your hands clinging against his broad shoulders, walls tightening with rapid pulsing.

you ask him for kisses, enveloping his rough mug with your delicate palms and letting his tongue make out sloppily with your mouth, whining broken groans as he presses a wide palm to your tummy, feeling the bulge beneath where his girthy cock pistons in you, making your pussy squelch with each wet glide, as you coat his length in oozing slick.

you even let könig cum in you, flooding you full of creamy cum that drips out your pulsing hole, making a mess from the sheets and your trembling thighs, not uttering for once that now everything is tacky, instead, you curl against him like affectionate kitten and try to nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck and wrap your cramping legs around his waist.

könig doesn't even knows what to think, you don't try to escape his bed immediately, instead pressing your naked body against his beefy one, letting his twitching cock stay buried inside of you, cockwarmed by your snug walls, as you let his burly hands envelope your frame and rock you to sleep like a baby.

and when you wake up early in the morning with pleasurable ache in your body and pussy throbbing, welcomed by the sight of breakfast in bed and könig clinging to you like a pup, smothering your neck in sloppy kisses and slurringly calling you his girlfriend, you don't run away.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[loveydovey489]

Ghost makes INCREDIBLY uncomfortable jokes, when he’s feeling petty. Like..

Say they’re hiding in a small space, getting away from enemies

“Me an’ my brother used to hide like this from my old man.”

They all just look at him. Price- who had repeatedly told him to knock it off. Just stares, unamused.

Gaz is like “oh.. uh. Sorry about that mate.”, always reacts like that. If he uses it to get his way, gaz will give in first.

And soap DGAF! Looks the man who just trauma dumped on him. Dead in the eyes and in a fed up tone, “steam’n Jesus stop doing tha’,”

if ghost actually wanted to talk. Of it was just them, if it was him being vulnerable, Ofcourse they’d listen. Soap, price and gaz, (price is one of only people who knows the full story. Not even soap knows it all)

But it’s clear when he’s taking the piss. He says it with a smile in his voice. And looks incredibly proud of himself. And they all HATE it.

He did this with Farah when they were on overwatch (MW3) and she matched his freak. Convo went something like this

Price: “one wrong move; and I’ll put a hole through you (talking to Shepard)”

Ghost: “my dad used to say that to me.”

Farah: “I watched someone do that to my dad,”

Ghost: “nice.”

Farah: “nice.”

LMAO I LOVE GHOST AND FARAHS FRIENDSHIP (sassy snipers.)

[itsoutrageouss]

More Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley coming into your room at night, no words needed. Follow up on my last post.

His hands are gripping your waist and your tummy, but not only that, he’s actually dragging you downwards with all his strength, pawing at you so your body scoots down the bed, onto his face, ruffling the sheets. The sounds he makes are unholy and like nothing you’ve heard. He’s always barking orders, grunting in disapproval. Now he’s moaning, nearly whining into the wet mess he’s making between your thighs, spit and slick everywhere.

You can’t even see him, only faint moonlight illuminating his bulging arms and head snug between your thighs. You still haven’t said a single coherent word since he came in, running a hand through his short hair, tugging in a way that makes his whole body shiver. He can’t breathe and he fucking loves it, feeling the stress melt from his muscles with every flutter of your hole around his tongue, cramming it inside you.

Everything is a haze. You had been asleep, and now your lieutenants stern, usually hidden mouth was enveloping as much of your pussy as it could and just slurping. Your thighs quivered around his head, feeling worshipped with the way his hands pulled and pulled on your flesh to get you closer.

He inhaled sharply, groaning in his exhale as his shoulders relaxed. You were his free therapy right now. It wasn’t even for you, because he moved up your body at a crucial second, unconsciously edging you. An annoyed whine left your lips, but he was quick to silence you with two fingers slipping between your lips, calloused fingertips pressing down onto your tongue.

“Good to me” was the first words spoken. His voice was hoarse, quiet and you weren’t sure if he was talking more to himself than to you, his eyes narrowed as they observed the way spit pooled at the corners of your lips as you suckled his fingers in contentment. It sounded almost like a surprised observation as it fell from his spit slicked lips.

You blinked up at him in the darkness, spreading your legs to accommodate his wide hips as he slotted them between your thighs.

Your hand curled around his wrist and gently pulled his wet fingers from your mouth. “Can be even better,” you whispered softly, an innocent expression on your face that he found cruel because how could you look at him like that? He had to squeeze his eyes shut for a second to gather his bearing before he looked at you again.

“Show me” he commanded lowly, lowering his chin, his expression dark and set like the lieutenant he was.

[bluegiragi]

charmed.

early access + nsfw on patreon

[khioneee]

simon is possessive and obsessive.

“you’re mine.”

the sound of his hips slapping against yours echoed through the room, each thrust harder and faster than the last. the force of him inside you was overwhelming, leaving you gasping for breath. a broken cry escaped your lips as your orgasm hit, tearing through you at the unforgiving pace he’d set. your body trembled beneath him, bouncing uncontrollably with each thrust as you clawed at the floor, desperate for anything to hold on to.

tears blurred your vision, but even through the haze, you could see him—ghost. his massive frame loomed behind you, the white skull mask glowing dimly in the low light. his blue eyes pierced through the shadows, flickering occasionally into a deep, predatory stare before shifting back, as if a monster lurked just beneath the surface.

a shaky, heated smile curled your lips as you caught sight of yourself in the mirror—wrecked, helpless, taken completely by the man behind you. every thrust sent shockwaves through your body, and the way he possessed you made it clear there was no escape.

simon leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, his voice low and rough. “i’m going to make you watch me take you over and over again until you’re nothing but a numb, broken thing.”

then he slammed into you harder, pulling a ragged cry from deep within you. your nails scraped the floor in desperation, but there was no reprieve, only his unrelenting rhythm.

“i’m still angry,” he growled, his words vibrating through you as he thrust deeper, faster. “and i’m going to make sure you understand, love—no other man will ever satisfy you again.”

his pace quickened, every thrust a punishment, every motion a claim. you could feel it—his rage, his desire, and the dark promise that dripped from his voice. and in the mirror, it was all laid bare: the power he had over you, the way he unraveled you completely.

simon was taking you, body and soul, and there was no turning back.

[connorsui]

If your passions called, Simon would answer. Boxes arrived while he was gone, filled with fresh journals for your poems, new pens for your writing, and all kinds of baking supplies to spark your creativity. He wanted you to always feel his presence, even if he was half a world away, each package a testament to his unwavering affection. When he returned, you would often slip him small, handwritten notes—your own words of love and encouragement—folded neatly, and he’d keep them close to his heart, tucked in a pocket as if they were a part of him. The others joked about him looking like a:

“proper husband”

for always stopping to read your handwriting, touching every letter as if every word you wrote was a treasure on its own.

There were nights, long ones, when you’d catch him sitting at the kitchen table, leafing through a scrapbook you’d made during his deployment. Pictures of the two of you, your annotations in the margins, your thoughts and memories, capturing moments he hadn’t even noticed you were holding onto. He’d touch each page, almost reverently, lingering on the edges like he was afraid his touch might ruin the paper. And when you’d join him, sliding into his lap with your arms wrapped around his neck, he’d tuck his face into your shoulder, silent, holding you close as if you were the only thing grounding him to this world.

Simon never argued with you; never needed to. He believed in “happy wife, happy life” with a fervency others might never understand. If you didn’t like something, he’d change it without hesitation. If you felt uncomfortable going out he would take you back home in his arms, helping you out of your dress with gentle hands, making your favorite tea in the kitchen, casting you warm, lingering glances as you sipped your cup by his side with the prettiest smile he swears he has never seen before in his life.

There were times you’d tease him, testing the boundaries of his devotion with light-hearted remarks about your whims. But no matter what you said, he never wavered. If anything, his dedication seemed to intensify, his love quiet but resolute, unwavering in the face of your every wish. You could see it in his eyes, the way they softened whenever he looked at you, as though you were the only person in the world he wanted, needed. To Simon, you were perfection, and nothing you did could ever change that.

When it came to intimacy, Simon was utterly faithful. At night, his hands would roam your form reverently, memorizing every curve, every detail he’d missed in his months away. When you traced the veins on his neck, his breaths came out heavy, the weight of his love pressing down on him. Your touch left him trembling, his normally steady hands shaking as he held himself over you, eyes dark with an almost sacred devotion as he rocked into you with slow, deep movements that left him weak.

When you’d murmur his name, kiss his scarred knuckles, and hold him close, Simon felt himself unraveling in your arms, reduced to nothing but his love for you. His broad, muscular form sank against you, a sturdy weight softened by your warmth, and he’d surrender completely, letting you hold him, a silent confession of his trust and vulnerability.

In the stillness of those moments, he would remember a time when he hadn’t believed in softness when life had taught him only to take and endure. But now, in your arms, Simon Riley found a new truth: that he could give, could cherish, and, most of all, could love without fear. And as he drifted to sleep, wrapped in your love, he knew that he had finally found his purpose—not in battle, nor vengeance, but in this quiet, steadfast devotion to the woman who had taught him that he was worthy of peace.

[slaughter-kin]

YEAH? AND?

[amaranthinespirit]

simon riley who lets you wear whatever you want because everyone else only gets to look. he gets to be the one to take you home and fuck you until nothing but his name falls from your pretty, pink, puffy lips.

another night out at the bar with simon and his boys, wearing a dress so short, your ass is peeking out the hem, and a cut so low, your cleavage is on full display—and only more pronounced with the low lighting that casted shadows across your skin. the way your nipples hardened—prominent through the material of what you wore—and goosebumps arose your skin at the cold breeze of the ac.

simon saw the way eyes lingered on you every time you detached yourself from his side—and admittedly, he was one of those pairs of eyes. every time his arm wasn't slung around your waist, or around your shoulders pulling you flush against his body, it was like it was an invitation for those around to take a look at you—but it wasn't.

it had made him jealous—possessive even—but he knew it was not your fault, nor your intention. in fact, he encouraged you to wear whatever you wanted—he can fight. and besides, it wasn't like they were the ones that were going to take you home and fuck you on their heavy, lengthy cocks till nothing, but their names spewed from your lips—only him.

regardless, the feeling brewed in the pit of his stomach; a fuzzy tingling feeling that made his dick twitch in his tight jeans. he felt the blood rushing south, his flaccid cock chubbing up at the sight—and thought—of you in that tight, skimpy material that was a sad excuse of a dress. the outline of his bulge in the blue denim becoming more pronounced than before.

he groaned lowly before taking the last remaining sips of his bourbon, muttering an excuse to the guys about it getting a bit late; that he needed to take the missus 'ome.

before they could make a comment, he rose from his seat and crossed the room to you—who stood at the bar waiting to order the next 'round of drinks.

he felt the way your body jumped at the contact of his large hand splayed across the small of your back, the way his thumb dragged back and forth across the material slowly as he looked down at you. the tense muscles across your body relaxed under his hand at the realization it was him before he tugged you out the bar.

a smug smirk painted his face at the sight of the eyes that followed your earlier movements realizing that you were with him, that you were his—but he would make sure they remembered for the time you guys came back.

he was eager to get home, to tear that tiny little dress from your body. he wasn't sure he could make it past the front room with how hard his dick was in his jeans, twitching with every contact of your skin. his hand grasping your plush thigh tightly in his calloused hand, his skin rough against yours.

goosebumps rising underneath his palm as his hand slid further and further up your leg. his fingers grazed the hem of your panties, feeling the lace material under the pads of his fingertips. trailing along the junction of your thigh and cunt, teasing the skin as he felt your muscle tense beneath his touch.

a huffed chuckle escaped his lips at your eagerness, your desperation while his middle finger grazed down the center of your silken cunt, feeling the folds of your labia through the fabric of your panties that soaked with your wetness. a quiet mewl escaped your lips and you could see the smug expression etch itself onto his face by the way his eyes glanced your way before peeling back to look at the road once more.

he continued to toy with your pussy through the fabric, parting your folds back and forth with a pinch to your sensitive clit every so often that sent a hand flying down around his wrist.

but his movements didn't falter. his teasing finger worked your pussy all the way home, groaning lowly when he finally pulled his hand from between your legs, away from your completely soaked panties, to look at the glistening and pruned finger you caused.

he salivated at the sight, slipping his fingers under his mask to get a taste of you—a sample of what's to come for him.

it wasn't long before he had you pushed back into the bed, dressed hiked up your hips and pushed down from your tits, leaving the material bunched around your midsection.

he growled at the sight of your dampened panties, hooking his hands around your thighs to press your clothed cunt against his painfully hard erection, feeling his heavy dick twitching through the material.

he was desperate, you were desperate, but he couldn't resist the urge to tease you, to punish you for what you had made him feel for the entirety of the night—even if he had been the one who told you to wear whatever you'd felt like.

he rolled his thumb up your panties, pressing down against your clit as he watched you squirm beneath him. he chuckled lowly at your heightened sensitivity as his other hand worked to unzip his jeans. he didn't bother to get undressed, to throw his shirt off and tug his jeans down his hips to hang around his thick thighs.

while you lay practically naked under him, he hovered without a single article of clothing shed from his body as he pulled his erect cock from his boxers.

the sight from below had made you impossibly more soaked—the way he looked down at you with a tiled head, balaclava still on while he remained fully clothed with just his thick, meaty cock poking out from his jeans as he stroked the length with one hand, the other toying with your clit.

he hadn't bothered to pull your panties down your legs, or tear them off even as he lined his weeping dick up to your pussy, biting back a groan at the sight of you desperately clenching around nothing in anticipation for his heavy cock.

precum oozed from the head of his dick, swiped away by his thumb as he stroked himself before teasing his length across your slick. he cursed under his breath at the warmth before slipping his bulbous head past your walls.

he felt the slight stretch of you around him, the whimper desperation for more as he fucked just the tip into you.

"think this'll teach ya what happens when i let ya do what ya want?" his voice is low and strained with withering control as his hips buck further into you involuntarily, "but i think ya do it on purpose, don't ya, love?"

you whined, his name spilling from your lips in response to his words because other than 'simon,' no other words could be formed. just like he wanted.

he watched the way your sopping pussy swallowed his dick, the way his meaty, veiny cock glistened with your slick every time he pulled out, only to slam back in. his bulbous tip kissing your cervix with each pounding thrust, his clothed hips hitting the back of your thighs, turning the skin red and staining his jeans with your slick.

his hips pistoned his cock further into your cunt with an unrelented pace as he leaned over you, feeling your bare skin through the fabric of his shirt as he sucked at your skin. he left marks purposely in areas he knew would be shown off the next time you dared to wear a dress like the one he's fucking you in. his lips bruising the fatty flesh of your breasts and the valley between them, up to your collarbone.

when he felt your first orgasm wash over you, his hips bucked relentlessly and unfaltering into you. the way your body trembled under him didn't stop him from rolling you onto your stomach.

"mm, 'm not done with you yet, lovie," he cooed from above, a hand running along your spine, feeling each vertebrae through your flesh.

his hand slid under your hips to hike your ass into the air as he fucked you into the mattress as one rough hand trailed to your waist to pull you back into his hard cock, and the other tangled in your hair to keep your pretty little wrecked face into the bedding.

with this new angle, he fucked his meaty dick further into your sweet cunt, feeling the way you clench around him with new sensitivity and the way his name fell from your lips in a new octave, muffled by the pillow your face was shoved into.

when he would find his release, he didn't stop either. he continued, though his paced slowed as he watched his creamy load seep from your glistening pussy, fucking it back into you with hard, slow thrusts. a ring of creamy white forming at the base of his cock and soaking into the denim of his newly ruined jeans.

he growled at the mewls that spilled from your lips at the feeling of his jeans against your overly sensitive cunt, pulling out of your pussy with a squelch as he replaced his dick with his fingers, swiping his load that spilled down from your hole to thrust it back into you.

a satisfied and proud hum rumbled his chest as he looked at the bruises and hickeys littering your skin so next time you decide to wear a dress so short and low cut, everybody can tell that you're his.

and maybe you would if it got you fucked like that by simon—but he doesn't need to know that. that's our secret.

[anythingneverythingnstuffs]

spicy!simon 'ghost' riley hc

established relationship edition

man is like at least 6'4 without boots, at least 6'7 with

but no matter his height, mans will drop to his knees if you ask him to in that commanding voice of yours

is totally dominant, when he is dominant, but also able to switch that off completely in order to obey your every command

it was *months* into your relationship with your neighbor, Simon, that you discovered this power you held over him

sometimes you wondered if it was too much power

Sunday mornings became your favorite. Sleeping in with Simon in his (or your) bed, his arms wrapped around you, his legs probably tangled with yours

the two of you would share an intimate morning, then have breakfast together

after breakfast, you would watch him take the dirty dishes, rinse them off, and load them in the dishwasher, all while not wearing a single piece of closing

he'd come back over to you, and you'd command him to drop to his knees

then you would reward him with his dessert. he's been such a good boy for you, after all.

[towelenjoyer]

Ghost: It's four o'clock in the morning, go to sleep sarge.

Y/n: I'll sleep when I die

Ghost: We're both legally dead, you can now legally sleep in my arms, chop chop.

Y/n: Damn like what they did to your family huh, Lt.

Ghost: >:(

[sketchyfandomgirl]

Thinking of Ghost carting around a tiny notebook, it’s basically a keychain that hangs from his belt loop. The kicker? It’s cute. Like, uncharacteristically so, for a man like Ghost that is.

It’s fucking pink. With goddamn glitter and a cat on it. With a small, pink pen to match!

Everyone who’s seen the keychain all think they’re having a damn stroke seeing the stupid thing for the first time. It’s so small, like if was meant for a kid, so what the hell is a Lieutenant doing with a fucking keychain notebook?

The purpose is debated to this day. To keep track of all he kills in the field? Marking losses? Reminders for the future? Fucking journaling his feelings?? No one even know if Ghost ever uses it, but are well aware that the man is strangely protective of his notebook, like some sort of rabid dog. snapping at anyone who tries to take it, and god forbid someone touches it. At least they know he’s aware of the pink notebook.

But the real reason Ghost even has it? Why would he even carry such a dainty, childish thing like that? How could he even manage to write so small with such large, almost clumsy fingers?

It’s where he writes his jokes.

It’s his fucking personal joke book.

[dmitriene]

continuation to this small work, cw: two freaks in love.

könig finds out you're kind of shy, a meek, pretty thing, sure, you send him such a revealing, unabashed polaroid pictures, but now, with him appearing out of nowhere at your door, giant and rugged, your fingers fiddle nervously at your own clothes, tugging down and trembling at your sides, wide eyes looking at the letter he holds in his gloved hand, from colonel, to you, name written by the way you already memorized, making you understand that it's really him.

the man you sent your nudes to, who would've know that he'd get so obsessed to try and find you like possessed dog, but you welcome him nonetheless, shuffling aside to let him in, bend his head down with a curl to his back so he would get past the doorway to your living room, dirty boots leaving a crumbs of dirt, his gear coated in things you don't want to know about, but his bright, unmovingly focused eyes look at you with a crinkle of delight, pupils could've dilate by now.

sure, könig is a little bit sad you didn't welcome him naked, or undressing at the very first sight of him, but he can work from what he got, from your shy touches when he wraps a hand around yours, for a handshake, that's it, but his by now ungloved, sandpapered fingers rub and circle around your wrist, curious, almost shuddering at the feel of your much smoother, gentle skin against his, and just this is enough to turn him on, cock swelling hard in his cargos.

he wonders if you'll let him bend you over the couch and eat your pussy from the back, or just stretch your pretty hole around his swollen cock, but you ask him questions, how he found you, why, does he wants something to eat, but könig already plans a small wedding for you two so he could make you his forever, an adorable housewife that will take care of her hard working husband with sending him pictures of her holes he could pump full after coming home.

könig tells you everything, how much times you made him cum, that he fantasized about you in any possible situation and position, dreamed of entering his quarters, and instead of a empty, boring room see you curled at his bed, his thumb tracing along your knee all the while he babbles your ears off with all disgusting, horny talks, but it's amuses you, to the point your thighs start to clench together, pressing harsh, as you lean in, watching his eyes nearly eclipse from the very little contact.

you put the letter he brought aside on the table, instead, asking your questions, and then answering his, which only contain of awkward, boyish laugh and stuttering words of if he looks the way you imagined, and könig is, a little bit awkward, in the same time cocky enough to touch you, nearly groping, looking enchanted on the outline of your breasts from beneath your sleeping shirt, before rubbing an sweaty hand against the back of his hooded head, such a silly man.

nearly jumps out of his pants when you offer him to take a bath at your place, voice mellowy and inviting, and könig trots behind you with a wagging tail when you lead the way, filling the bath full of warm water and couple drops of shower gel, making some bubbles that not really suit him, but would make the room smell nice and block out all that reeks out from him when he starts to undress, preening under your touch when you help to unclasp couple of things off his gear, könig holding down from to not shove your hand down his crotch.

it's when you join him that he gets insistent, all your shy act dropping down, your nails raking down the expanse of his toned, tissued back with tiny, reddening streaks, as könig corners you against the bathtub ceramic, moaning raggedly and humping your pussy persistently, messy, hips grinding and twitching, and the way he acts so eager and silly makes you really aroused, mewling right against his wet ear as he sloppily makes out with your neck, his hair and stubble rubbing all over your sensitive, bruised skin, sharp teeth's closing around the warmed flesh.

seems like now, you have a strange kind of boyfriend, a military colonel, a right pervert, and a pussy drunk pup that pumps your soppy, gummy cunt full of his thick, creamy release, one he kept in his balls especially for your meeting, his vision nearly blackening from how long his cock throbbed and spurted, squeezed tight by your pulsing, milking walls, enjoying your palms stroking his face, cooing at him hushed and lulling, everything könig dreamt of.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[mindie-arts]

Fuck it *ponifies your military men✨*

This might be my new obsession-

[itsoutrageouss]

Just something about the unspoken tension between you and Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley, the way he looks at you with those hooded, lazy trails over your face that doesn’t give anything away except for how long they’re on you.

It’s when he finally creaks the door open to your room in the barracks in the dead of night, his silhouette recognisable in a second as you lay curled up under the covers. You don’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything, but you see his shoulders move like he’s breathing heavier than usual. He walks to your bed like he has all the time in the world- which he does.

You sit up. Blink at him in the dark. He peels your blankets off without a word, his eyes leaving your face only to trail down your body with the same impenetrable, unreadable eyes. It’s unbearable but it had to come to this and you both know it as he shrugs off his shirt, slips his sweats down.

He pushed your tank top just over your tits to suck on them. Nothing had been said yet as you gasp into the thick silence, his perverted mouth licking and sucking with no remorse, filthy sounds accompanying your silent whines as his lips pop, his tongue licking over any flesh it could find. His mouth trails lower and lower, hands flexing on your ribs, tits, thighs, because he needed this. You. Stress relief. And he wanted to find it in your body, just for tonight. Right?

pt.2