#sims cod

[h-a-unted]

"Figured if I stuck around Hell long enough, I'd see the Devil..." "How's he look?"

[astro-dusk]

A brother's letter

A cod black ops hc fic (Adler’s brother expresses his concerns after the scar incident [story inspired by @animefreak1145 & @adlerboi theory of Adler having brothers] (OCs: Adler's brother (unamed), Paul Adler-Adler's other brother) (For context, Adler's brother (unamed) is highly religious(thank you to @pyxis-stellae for the idea)

(This is my second time writing a fic, so I'm not really good at it) ██ ████,1967

Russ:

I told you so, I told you so many times to not join the damn war. Now look at you, half of your face nearly gone because you are always so goddamn impulsive, calm down for once you adrenaline junkie. Lawrence told me that you’ve been acting weird after the incident, clearly you aren’t doing well. Do you want to be like our grandpa’s brother? He lost his sanity that our dad had to send him to an insane asylum, do you want to be like him: A hollow husk. This war is nothing more than stupid old men looking for power and you are their dogs, willingly to do anything just because they promised you glory and adventure. And you, killing an unarmed soldier? This is sick, I already warned you that you would have to kill and you dismissed it, claiming this is for the good of the country, but now it seems you’re just enjoying the killing. Lawrence was right, you changed.

 I’m scared for you, Russ. I’m scared that when you die and arrive at the Pearly Gates for judgement you would be tossed down with the devil. Never in my existence I would want to ever experience this. Your kids and wife still come by to visit the church sometimes (that is even if you care anymore, you barely ask about them). Your wife is tired of waiting for you, she barely mentions you anymore. The kids still ask about you, hope in their eyes that you would be back. Everytime they ask when you would be back I couldn’t bare to look into their eyes and tell them you won't be back for another year or the chance you won't be even coming back at all and the only vivid memory of you is in a casket with a damn flag on top of it. 

Russell, you’re going to die in that stupid cameo. And I know none of us can stop you from chasing after adventure, but you are not a linebacker anymore, you are a father and husband. Just come back and visit your family, we already lost Paul as a kid to sickness, I am not losing another brother.

████

[ivqnx]

Ahh, finally i can fight the damn artblock… here, have some of Lawrence Sims.

Reblog really helps! you can support me by reblog :3

[islandtarochips]

FINALLY! I have done it been SO long for me to finish this piece! And I want to say thank you to @alypink for helping to color the cake, the season and the colors! I LOVE it!

Okay everyone! Since I saw some of my mutuals done this! I was thinking that I should joined in! With my BOCW OC! Koa Nikau and Ex who is now becoming his wife (again)! Aroha Arehe!

Their first marriage hasn’t been planned ACCORDINGLY since the two just ran off to get married somewhere else. Without Aroha’s family knowing. But since they have their 2nd wedding. They’ll finally have their WHOLE family (mostly Aroha side) to see them getting married!

Koa lets Aroha plan things out but will help out as much as he can. Aleks help out as well to ease things up a bit.

The two do like to have their wedding ceremony outdoors. But has different ideas of where to have their venues. Aroha decided to go with Koa’s ideas. For she had found it very romantic of these two dancing under the decorative lights.

Koa was planning to have their wedding around the fall season but changed his mind since he wanted to make his future wife happy. So he’s glad that he agreed to do it during the Spring season.

They also invited Koa's friends! Even though that the Groom has to tolerate of seeing Adler, Hudson, Sims and Helen. But luckily Aroha was there to calm him down.

The Groomsmen would be Frank, Alex, Craig, Charles and Aroha’s older brother (surprisingly he agreed to this). And the Best Man will be Vasili. Questioning of what happened to Sims, Lazar, Hudson and Adler? They’re just sitting down on the chairs.

Bridesmaids will be Jodie and some of Aroha’s cousins. And the Maid of Honor will be Aleks. Imagined these two women had gotten closer because of them talking about their hubbies🤭 Oh and Helen was with the other boys in the crowd.

Pretty sure the groomsmen (except for Aroha’s older brother) will try not to laugh at Koa’s, not his uniform, HAT. Koa would just shush those guys up as he tried to keep his composure.

Koa will also be blushing to see Aroha walking up on the aisle with her father. Wearing that beautiful dress. He was also sweating so much to see Aroha’s father glaring at him when he handed his daughter to him. (You should know why)

Marynee (Alek's daughter) being the honoree flower girl. And having one of Aroha's nephew being the ring bearer.

Since the wedding couples decided to do their own custom wedding vows. You can say Koa had took this one in the bag. For he had SO many things to say to his lover. About their past relationship, of his regrets, how much he had screw it up and blah blah blah and so forth and so forth. You get it right?

The beginning of the song will be “Endless Love”. Which it is Koa and Aroha’s cue for the slow dance.

Vasili and Jodie will be having a dance battle against Frank and Alex.

Kai (Koa and Aroha's eldest son) started talking to Sims about some mechanic nerd stuff.

Everyone will be seeing Aleks, Frank, Charles, Craig and Vasili having that drinking competition. Wait…KOA GET VASILI AWAY FROM THE VODKA!

Aleks dancing with her kids and Koa’s kids on the dance floor. TRYING to drag Adler to join in.

Charles will be doing the most embarrassing dance in HISTORY while being drunk. And Ari (Koa and Aroha's youngest son) joined in with him. (Koa had secretly recorded it)

Koa and Lazar was arm wrestling again. And once again, Lazar won. Which he received a kiss on the cheek from the bride as a reward. (Koa was ok with that. He’s fine…I think.)

And after the reception well BEFORE the ending of it. Vasili had surprised Koa with a special tradition of the Māori way. By doing the HAKAS. Which it gives Koa great tears to see his friend who had done it so well. Even Aroha was impressed.

Vasili “Bell” Sokolov - @welldonekhushi

Craig Alan Jones - @kaitaiga

Aleksandra Clarke R./Marynee - @alypink

Charles “Charlie” Moore - @deeptrashwitch

Jodie “Bell” Hall - @imagoddamnonionmason

Koa “Hunter” Nikau/Aroha Arehe Nikau - Me

[the-librarby]

HOME EARLY II

- SIMON RILEY (COD)

18+ MDNI

Simon knows what’s good for his wife before she does, which is why when he tells her to sit on it, she sits on it whether she likes it or not.

.･:★ I sat on this idea for too fucking long, work got in the way and derailed my thought process so, here it is, the final installation.

Part I

No one warned you how purely uncomfortable pregnancy was. Besides the noticeable shift in your belly swelling— the aches, pains, and amount of times you need to pee throughout the day is becoming unbearable. Your breasts feel sensitive to the point you’ve even banned Simon from touching them at times, something he mourns each day.

Everyday tasks are getting more difficult when you need to take frequent breaks from standing, thankfully your husband has picked up a lot of the slack without a word.

“I can’t believe you did this to me,” you moan from your seat at the dining table.

“I know, love,” Simon replies on autopilot as he cleans up the dishes, it’s not the first time you’ve blamed him.

“Can you go through the rest of this for me?” You plead.

“Would if I could, love,” he smiles, turning on the kitchen sink tap.

You clasp your hands over your swollen belly and cross your ankles over each other as you watch him clean, “You would?” You muse, “Fat tits and all?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “Part of the package, so yes, tits and all.”

A sigh leaves your lips as you sink deeper into your chair, the wooden back is digging uncomfortably into your spine but you’re too lazy to move. The kitchen is peaceful as you watch Simon scrub at the dishes you promised to get to later, the soap seems to cling to his forearms not wanting to let go, his arms looked good in that old t-shirt of his which is more more tighter on him than when you wear it around the house. Did washing the dishes make him more attractive? You squinted in thought, must be pregnancy brain making your hormones run haywire.

With an exhaustive huff you stand to your feet and walk over to the sink, grabbing the hanging tea towel off the oven door on your way. Simon watches you curiously and shakes his head, but you grab a plate off the drying rack before he can dismiss you.

“I’ve got it,” you assure, “Not bedridden Si, I can move around,”

“Shouldn’t have to move around,” he mutters, hauling another dish out of the sink and onto the rack, “S’what I’m here for.”

You grin as you out the plate back in its cabinet above you. Simon was insistent that you shouldn’t have to lift a finger, if it weren’t endearing to hear how much he cared about your wellbeing, you would have lost your mind by now. You step up behind him and snake your arms in between his and drag them up his chest until both hands settle around his pecs, squeezing them softly between your fingers.

“Keep talking like that and you’re gonna have to take responsibility,” you mumble coyly, pressing against him as much as your body will allow. You reach up and press a kiss against the back of his neck.

You can’t see it but you can hear the smirk in his amused tone as he looks over his shoulder, “You making a move on me, sweetheart?”

You laugh at how bluntly he called your game, reaching up on your tiptoes to kiss his jaw, “Is it working for you?”

He chuckles and looks away, reaching to turn off the tap, “You’re lucky we’re already married,”

You scoff, offended by his insult, “Are you saying my charms are weaker now?”

“I’m saying,” he dries his hands before turning around to face you, inches apart and separated only by your protruding belly, “You don’t have to put on an act to have me,”

“Putting in effort isn’t an act, Simon,” you reply, holding onto his arms as he reaches out to caress your sides, “Are you saying you wouldn’t put on an act for me if you wanted to get in my pants?”

He raises an eyebrow, “Get in your pants?” He repeats, “What am I, a teenager?”

You slap his arm, “You know what I mean,”

He sighs, “What are you really asking? I’d always put in effort for you,” he squeezes your hip softly, “You’re my wife,”

The split second pause you take to respond is enough to make him worry. He curls his finger and uses the knuckle to knock your chin upwards until you’re looking at him, “What’s wrong?”

“Am I a chore to you?” You blurt out, diverting your attention down to the details of his t-shirt. It’s blue colour has darkened patches from the water that splashed onto him while cleaning, “You’ve picked up so much slack since this pregnancy…”

His hands are still cradling your hips, thumb gently rubbing circles in reassurance while you collect your thoughts. You take a deep breath and sigh, “I don’t want sex to be another responsibility you feel like you have to take on,”

He sighs roughly, “Look at me,” you peek up at him through your eyelashes, his gaze leaves no room for misinterpretation, “When have I ever acted like fucking you is a chore?”

You bite your lip and remain silent, in the back of your mind you can rationalise you’re just being sensitive but the paranoia eats away at you.

He crouches down until he meets your lowered gaze, “Do you realise how hard it has been for me to hold back?”

You stare at him through parted lips, the sound of a pin dropping could be heard through the silence of the kitchen. Simon doesn’t elaborate just to ensure you get it through your thick head that he finds you incredibly desirable— even more so now with how your body is filling out, a selfish part of him wants to keep you pregnant forever if it means he gets to take care of you like this.

Before pregnancy you were very independent, sure you loved showering him in affection and were a doting partner, but nothing compares to how dependent you are on him now. The sheer need and reliance you have on your husband to support you through this curls in his gut and feeds his self-assurance.

Gradually, his hands trail up your sides until the sides of his thumbs support the outline of your breasts. You breathe in sharply at the immediate pricks of sensitivity shoot through your chest at the slight pressure.

Simon pauses instantly, leaving his fingers wrapped around the side of your ribs and chest, "I have watched these shirts of yours get impossibly tighter each day," he comments calmly, "And I have kept my hands to myself,” his eyes catch yours staring,” Because you want me to,”

“So it’s my fault?” You shoot back defensively, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. It was stupid to bring this up, and you just want to end it now before you ask something else that you’ll regret the answer to.

“Stop deflecting,” he grunts, tugging you closer until he secures his arms around your waist, giving you nothing to do other than hold his arms to keep yourself upright. Even with no space between the two of you, you still try to lean as far out as you can in defiance.

“I didn’t say it was your fault,” he continues, “Are you listening to me?”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest when his arms won’t give way, “I’ve heard enough,” you mumble, pointedly looking away, “I’m a terrible wife because I won’t let you touch me,”

“Now you’re just talking bullshit,” he calls frankly, “Come with me.”

He takes your hand in his and walks down past the living room straight into the bedroom. It’s clean and taken care of just like the rest of the house under your husband’s control. You try not to dwell on the thoughts of uselessness festering in your mind as Simon seats himself onto the edge of the bed, taking you down with him by gently guiding you into straddling his lap.

A hand rests on your belly protectively as you shift to get comfortable—it’s getting increasingly harder to sit like this as you swell— Simon waits patiently for you to still, his eyes watching cautiously in case you lose balance.

In the safety of the bedroom Simon watches as your shoulders slowly unwind. It’s silent as he rubs his hands up and down your forearms which hang loosely in your lap, eyes refusing to meet each other as understanding tries to piece itself together.

“You know I love you, right?”

The earnestly makes your heart ache and clench your eyes shut. You moan pitifully and knock your forehead against his shoulder, “Don’t say that,”

Simon frowns and tries to look down at you but you stay stubbornly glued to him, “Don’t say I love you?”

You moan again and shake your head, digging further into his shoulder. He sits there silently with a bemused smile on his face, he knows you’re finding it hard to stay upset with him—you could never stay mad for that long. So he waits another minute letting you sit in the last vestiges of your simmered annoyance before speaking again.

“Can I show you then?” He asks, wondering.

You raise your head just to look at him questioningly, “Show me what? That you love me?”

He nods at your clarification, smug smile on his face. It cracks an unwillingly upward tug of your lips, “And you say my lines are weak,”

He shrugs, “You know my actions speak louder than my words love, been that way since day one,”

You hum in agreeance, curious where his mind is leading, “Go on then.”

Simon reclines back until he’s laying flat on the mattress, his legs are still propped up in order to keep you seated on his lap but he makes no further move other than gesturing you to crawl forward with the curl on his fingers.

You crawl forward until you’re seated on his lower stomach but he keeps urging you to move. Cautiously you stop once you reach high on his chest, your knees are knocking into his armpits and forcing you to either stop or readjust—you choose to stop because this is getting ridiculous, you have no idea what he’s trying to communicate, he just keeps gesturing you to move forward.

“What do you want?” You finally ask, looking down at him with hands perched flat against the mattress either side of his head for balance.

His hands reach out to wrap around your outer thighs, from this position he has a full view of the indecent way your leggings crease against your crotch. He inches his thumb forward until it rubs across the stitched seam, causing your breath to hitch, the soft sensation feels so nice you would have missed what he said if you weren’t crouched so close to his face.

“Want you to sit on it,” he demands, gazing up at you.

You immediately try to shuffle away, shaking your head, “No way, Simon,” you reply, “I thought I was heavy before pregnancy, and I am much more heavy now, I’m not going to sit anywhere—”

He rolls his eyes, tuning out your rant in favour of ripping a hole until he has a good view of your underwear. You gasp and lift one hand to slap his away, “Fucking—stop! I’m not doing this.” your complaints fall on deaf ears as he brute forces his arms under your thighs, grabbing you by your rear and shoving you up until you’ve got no other choice but to hover over his face.

Your arms wobble as you kneel over him, for a moment you think you can stay like this out of spite until he gets this ridiculous idea out of his head, but it hard to hold yourself up and he knows it. He gazes up at you with a lazy smirk, perfectly content and waiting below you— you’ll have to come down at some point. Is what he’s thinking.

“You want this to not feel like a chore?” He asks, reminding you of your previous statement, “Then let me do what I want,”

You whine, “Does it have to be like this?” You ask pitifully, already turned on despite your embarrassment, “I will squash you Simon, and not in a sexy way,”

He pats your ass playfully with one hand while the other reaches over for your underwear, “Countin’ on it sweetheart.” he rumbles, hooking his thumb in and pulling the dampening fabric to the side.

Anxiously you lower yourself until you can feel the warmth of his breath against your folds, his nose just nudges the edge of your mound and it’s enough to set your thighs on fire. The burn of straining yourself makes you tense up but you refuse to lower yourself any further.

The first probe of your husband’s tongue against your clit has your thighs closing in with a soft curse. Simon rests one hand flat against your ass while the other keeps your panties hooked aside as he flattens his tongue in a wide swipe upwards. It feels good at this angle, you hate to admit it because you’re still feeling reservations about your weight, but Simon has completely shut off—eyes closed and grip tensing as he gets reacquainted with your sweet spots. It had been so long since he was able to take his time and just map you out.

The soft sounds filter out like a leaking tap, once you start you can’t stop. Your hips twitch forward minutely when his tongue flicks at just right angle, causing you to remember how your thighs are starting to get sore from tensing so much. When you look down, Simon is already gazing up at you through hooded eyes, his hair is swept off his forehead and looking like he’d rather be nowhere else with your thighs closing in around his head.

“Fucks sake,” you huff, “I’m too pregnant for this,”

Simon hums beneath you before tilting his chin up so you can hear him, “‘cause yer’ bein’ a fuckin’ idiot,” he scoffs, momentarily letting your underwear snap back in place as he lets go.

You bite the inside of your cheek hard, trying to hold your tongue but you can’t, “You try feeling like this Simon,” you snap, “Honestly, I don’t care how strong you think you are, breaking your jaw does not sound the least bit sexy to me—stop looking at me like that and stop seriously considering it!”

You can feel the way he chuckles with the rise and fall of his chest, “It would be an honour to be sent to emergency with an unhinged jaw because my pregnant wife had the ride of ‘er life,”

You shake your head with a frown, “This is not a joke, I’m genuinely worried,” your complaint bounces off Simon’s head as he tugs your panties to the side again. But you continue your rant nonetheless, “How would I even begin to explain that? You can’t lie to the paramedics Si, I would have to give details, you can’t do this to me.”

When he’s had enough of your stalling, he takes matters into his own hands and forcibly seats you by tugging you flush against his mouth. Your thighs spread to accomodate the drop, and his anchored grip on your thighs drives your knees down into the mattress.

“Wait,” you pant, wriggling desperately in his grip, “Wait—Simon, stop, I’ll hurt—” his lips circle around your clit and suck softly, effectively cutting off the rest of your sentence.

“Fuck,” you sigh, tilting your head back and letting your thighs fall further apart so you can press even closer, “You play fucking dirty.”

Simon pats your ass affectionately at your comment and flattens his tongue once again, drawing wide from hole to clit. Your thighs are tingling from finally having your weight shifted, and his tongue moves with skilled efforts as he circles and sucks against your clit until you’re seeing stars. When that pleasured numbness starts to build your hips twitch forwards to chase it, you hold your breath and wait for some kind of pained groan but when it doesn’t come you sigh in relief.

With renewed confidence—and reckless abandonment at the onslaught of pleasure—you press your palm against your husband’s forehead and grip his hair hard as you drive your hips back and forth against his mouth until he settles against that one spot that has you moaning.

He lets his jaw go slack as you take control, riding against his tongue and grinding down against his nose until his mouth covered in your slickness. When your thrusts become more frantic he takes ahold of your ass and sucks hard against your clit until your sobbing and clenching your thighs around his head, shoving his head closer by your grip as you ride out the trembling pleasure.

You’re panting above him, boneless in your after glow and momentarily forgetting where—or who, you’re sitting on. When your thoughts decide to organise themselves you quickly dislodge yourself from Simon’s mouth and sit back on his chest. He takes in large gulps of air, self satisfied and glowing himself as he lets his arms fall back against the mattress like he’s the one who just came.

You purse your lips together at the wetness you’ve left behind on his lower face, slightly mortified about how you took advantage in the end, but Simon is just silently glad you finished before he managed to come in his shorts.

He lifts a hand and cups his own jaw, opening and closing it slightly as he feels around, “Think it’s intact,” he notes, “Wasn’t sure in the end with the way you were ridin’ me like a horse,”

You huff and slap his shoulder, “You were fucking asking for it,”

He nods with a smirk, “That I was love.” He instantly concedes.

Gently you climb off him and lay down on your back, the air is cool on your inner thighs with the gaping hole in your leggings. Simon lays down for a moment longer, your trail your gaze down slowly until you see the tent in his shorts, satisfaction curls in your gut that he’s still rock hard—serves him right for not listening to your anxieties. You watch him lazily as he rises, he kneels in front of you and presses his hands against your knees which are propped up. You can feel the outline of his cock against your shin as he looks down at you smugly.

“Worth it?” He asks.

You lift your foot and stroke it up and down his thigh, “Well worth it, thank you.”

He hums, leaning forward to kiss you softly. It’s a strain as his chest presses against your knees and pushes them against your stomach, but he’s utterly gentle in his descent and quick to lift himself back up before it becomes painful. Wordlessly he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband of your leggings and underwear, pulling them off in one go and letting them fall out of sight.

You’re about to warn him that you can’t go another round as he pulls his shorts beneath his balls, cock slapping against his abdomen as his shirt joins your pants on the floor. However, you shut up when instead of prying your legs apart he pushes them together, and slings your knees over his right shoulder.

“What are you—” he spits into his hand and gives his cock a stroke, you watch curiously as his arm pumps up and down before resuming to his holding place on your outer thigh.

His intentions start to clear when you feel his cock poke at the seam between your thighs until it breaks through. It’s a wet slide with his saliva as he leisurely pumps in and out, he grunts at the way your plush thighs envelop him, it won’t take him long to blow if he keeps thinking about the way you were riding him earlier.

“Give ‘em a squeeze love,” he mumbles, wrapping his arms around your thighs and fucking into them more rigorously, you clench your thighs together as much as you can and watch enraptured by the way the head of his cock peaks through on each forward thrust.

“Feel nice?” You ask, breath punched out of you as his thighs slap against yours.

“Unbelievable,” he replies, “Wish I could keep you like this forever,”

You raise an eyebrow, “On my back or pregnant?”

He huffs, “Fuckin’ both,” he grunts, looking down at you from over the bridge of his nose, “I’d invent new ways to fuck you if it meant you’d stay like this.”

You reach down for the hem of your shirt and awkwardly hike it over your head, Simon pauses so you can take it off fully but quickly resumes once it’s gone. His eyes are glued to your tits as they bounce with each thrust, your nipples are pointed and sensitive, he knows this but reaches down to pinch one anyway.

You twist and arch your back at the overwhelming tingling that erupts underneath his fingertips, gritting your teeth as you bare your way through it. Simon watches, captivated by the newfound sensitivity his touch brings, he could sit for hours playing with your tits just to see how much he could make you squirm if you’d let him.

But he eases off eventually, giving you momentary relief as he wraps his arms around your thighs again as he thrusts forward. Your thighs are becoming more slimy with the way he drips between them, you can’t help but throb as you watch him slowly unwind and get closer to the edge.

“Could get used to this,” you sigh, gently taking hold of your own chest and lightly rubbing your nipples with your forefingers, “I’d stay pregnant if it meant never lifting a finger again,”

Simon zones in on the way your fingers massage your tits, it makes his cock twitch and leak even more, “Mm never,” he agrees, “I’d do it all,”

You smile coyly, “Such a good husband,” you coo, using your thumbs to pinch your nipples, “Bet you’d let me use that cock like a toy, huh? All for your wife, right?”

He groans and delivers a particularly hard thrust at your words, “Fuckin’ hell.” he grunts.

You cross your ankles over each other and squeeze your thighs harder, Simon exhales roughly and resorts to rutting between them desperately.

“C’mon baby,” you murmur, “Need you to come now, come on.”

Simon drives one last thrust forward and stills. You can feel the wetness spill in between and trickle down to your cunt. He breathes deeply and rests his forehead against your legs as he collects himself.

“Worth it?” You ask, amused.

“You need to stop tempting me with idea of keeping you pregnant, it’s fucking with my head,” he groans.

You laugh and reach forward to stroke his forearm still wrapped around your legs, “But you have the best reactions to the thought of it,”

He looks at you through hooded eyes, “Your gonna eat your words when I take you up on it one day.”

You roll your eyes, happy to play with fire for now.

[shadow0-1]

Love on the battlefield

[faceless-q]

Nik, come home the kids miss you

[cod-dump]

Sims, about David: How is his mom?

Mason: *opens his mouth*

Woods, loudly from the other room: I'M FUCKING PEACHY

Adler: *chokes on his whiskey, loudly coughing as he stumbles*

Mason: *red faced as he stutters*

Sims:

Sims: Well, that answered quite a few questions, just not the one I asked

[ryololart]

Dont get me wrong i love a good enemies to lover… but something about simon always being on your side, even when you’re wrong has my heart. He crawled through darkness and sorrow to bathe in your light, even if he has to get his hands dirty to stay there. A lil blood never hurt anyone.

He loves you when you’re right, when you’re wrong, when you love him, and when you don’t. He yours darling, make sure you make the most of it.

When simon riley is gone he doesnt come back and if he does he is a ghost of what he was, what you once had.

[the-raindeer-king]

Single dad Kyle Garrick, who was supposed to be on leave for at least another week. Who gets the call from Price that things are changing quicker than expected, that they've got an asingement and he's needed back on base.

Who has no one to watch his daughter while he's away.

His mum is out of town, sister is busy getting her master's. There's really no one except... well, except for you, his kind neighbor who's had to watch Bella only once or twice and never more than just for the day.

But you're understanding and more than willing to watch the toddler. The two of you get along well, and she's always begging to stay longer. What's a couple of months?

Honestly, if Kyle wasn't in love with you before, he definitely is now. And, when he finally gets back, seeing you and Bella asleep on the couch, all snuggled up together, only solidifies the feeling.

[tomialtooth]

Park is British, Lazar lives off of take out, Woods is a burger fiend, Mason's taste buds got fried on rebirth island, Bell is fed only kibble and benzodiazepines and Adler's diet solely consists of Marlboro reds. This leaves Sims as the only safe house crew member who might know how to actually cook

[h-a-unted]

"It's above the table. Unambiguous. Maybe you should give it a try." "Oh no, it's a little late for me."

[illusivesoulgaming]

Some Cold War memes

[annkama]

full of DETERMINATION

[dutiful-wildcraft]

Life's Sweet Bells

A COD Farm Sim AU with omegaverse splashed in!

Poly 141 x F!OC. Previous. Villagers

Pt. 2: Paloma Meets Price

Johnny and Kyle lied to him. 

Horrid little pack mates, he should have known something was up when the pair were unusually quiet during their weekly friday night at the inn. 

John knew their newcomer had just arrived a few days prior, not that he had a lot of hope for the poor sod. People have come and gone to town before. Young bucks who thought they could hack it with the sweat off their backs. Most came because of the allure of the peaceful countryside, but quickly left when they realized luxury was a limited resource. 

John had sat at the bar, whiskey in hand, something deep in his soul easing at seeing the townsfolk all inside, laughing and happy. They were a pseudo-pack of sorts, not everyone bonded, not like him and his boys, but he remained protective of them all the same. It was sheer fortune that he'd built the pack that he had, beautiful, strong and resourceful as they were. It was an absolute dream to have them all together, safe in their little village. He wasn't particularly keen on adding another, though he supposed it was inevitable. 

The town's economy had been struggling since the earthquake cut down on business. Perhaps a new face wouldn't hurt…

Johnny and Kyle’s laughter pulled his attention, the pair playing some sort of roleplaying game at a nearby table, the party bantering after defeating a band of monsters. 

“The goblin floats lazily down the river, slowly…like, comically slow, and you know it won't be long before the rest of his hoard realizes he's missing.” Alex narrates, looking amused, (and just a little tired) after overseeing yet another harrowing adventure, all while the boys giggle and high five.

“I LOOK AROUND” Soap blurts, bypassing any structure of the game. 

“You don't wanna take a short rest first?” Alex retorts sharply.

“I did not lose any health” Farah cuts in, arms crossed, pointedly looking at Soap.

“Rest mate, you've only got 1 health point left.” Gaz adds.

“Ach fine, I rest. Then, I look around.” Soap laments.

Alex smirks, “We're resting so you can start fresh next week, but before we go” he leans in, mischief in his eyes. “You see a stranger, you know anything about strangers, Mactavish? Garrick?” He looks between them suspiciously. 

And this is what really gets John's attention, makes him turn away from the bar inconspicuously. Even Farah turns, schmoozing in close to Alex to fix the pair of men with an additional suspicious gaze, eyes narrowed.

The alphas share a look, a silent conversation happening between the long time friends before they're both shrugging in unison. 

Both Alex and Farah throw up their hands.

“Come off it boys, we know you've talked to the newbie.” Laswell calls from behind the bar, her wife Madeline grinning over her shoulder. 

John feels just a bit sour. They didn't tell him, they'd met the newcomer. 

The pair hem and haw.

“They seem alright” Gaz says, noncommittal.

Soap nods, “Real busy, they've got their hands full out there, for sure.”

“That's a whole lotta nothing.” comes a gruff voice, Ghost perched near the fireplace. 

John finally cuts in, his own god damned curiosity too much to bear. He feels a bit like a teenager, wants to know every detail, what they're like, what was their name, what did they look like, designation, etc. He reels it back instead.

“Are they going to stick around is what I want to know.” he grouses, taking another swig. If he were watching a little more closely, he would have seen the playful glint in both of his alpha's eyes. 

“Can't be sure.” Gaz replies, hiding a smile behind his drink.

“Maybe you should give ‘em a chat, Cap, see for yerself” Soap chimes in. “Not sure you two will jive though” he adds, staring absently into his mug. 

John wasn’t a tough man to get along with, just selective.

He huffs through his nose, finishes off his drink. It would have to wait. He'd already promised to help Nik with a few “projects” in the capital. Maybe the newcomer would be gone by the time he came back, that'd be one less problem to worry about.

~

He’d arrived back late monday evening, leaving Nik to unload his stock while he settled into a desk in the museum reception area, working through his portion of the collections paperwork and local donations. Desk work was never his favorite, but the peace and quiet of the old place, accompanied by the soft patter of rain against the large pane windows would be plenty to lull his weary mind to rest when the time came. He looked forward to crawling into one of his pack’s beds after a long weekend away. 

He’d settled in nicely, cigar in hand and hot evening tea, when the heavy wooden doors of the museum open, wind gently rustling the pages on his desk. He doesn’t look up right away, it’s probably Simon, coming by to check in. 

What he was not expecting however, was the soft round thing that tiptoes inside. Wet squeaky boots on marble as she blinks at him. She's a mess, dirt smeared on her sweet round cheeks and worn denim overalls, the soaked fabric hugging her soft tummy and wide hips, silvery hair tied back in messy twin braids dripping onto the floor. 

He stares. 

She stares. 

She’s the first to recover,  flashing him a sheepish smile, eyes bright behind big round glasses. His heart stutters just a bit. 

This was the newcomer?

“Hello! I’m sorry, I must have missed you earlier.” she chimes, seemingly unphased by her own disheveled appearance as she slips closer, slinging a heavy backpack from her shoulders with a soft grunt, the pickaxe at her back clanging noisily to the floor with the action.  

Who gave her a bloody pickaxe??

She slings out a hand and introduces herself, wrenching it back quickly to smear the remnant dirt from her hands onto her overalls before extending it again with an apologetic smile. 

It’s not often that John Price is dumbfounded, but it was certainly not every day that a big soft girl walks into his museum, especially not one like this. He didn't even realize he’d stood up, snuffling at the air like an old hound, trying to get just a whiff of the pretty thing. She’s an omega, he can feel it in his bones, something just on the edge of his biological periphery that makes his teeth ache. Her scent is nearly nonexistent under the earth and rain, but it’s there, sugary sweet like blueberry pancakes.  Something ugly preens in the back of his mind. 

Ah yes, this one is staying. 

“Are you alright, Captain?” 

He’s swift, snapping out of his thoughts to clamp his hand in hers. She’s cold to the touch, hands damp and freezing. Unacceptable. 

“Are you alright sweetheart? What have you been doing?” He rounds the desk, keeping her hand aloft, thumb rubbing at her skin in a weak attempt to warm her up as he looks her over. 

She had better not be doing what he thinks she was doing.

“Oh I’m peachy! Just doing a bit of mining, time just got away from me is all.” she laughs, nerves apparent in her soft english lilt. 

She was.

He bites back an exasperated huff, brows furrowed in displeasure as he scans her from head to toe. She goes still, nervous, like a pup as he comes closer. She’s filthy, but doesn’t appear to be injured, just…clumsy, the ass of her overalls covered in mud from where she’d apparently fallen, several times, but otherwise okay. His brain slows down just a little. 

“You were in the mines?” he asks incredulously, her hand slipping from his as she jumps back to life. “And who’d you learn ‘Captain’ from?”

“Yes!” she chirps, she’s beyond excited, dropping to her knees to root through her backpack, the sound of stones and tin clanking around in its confines. ”Soap and Gaz told me all about you, said you were always pretty busy, but I’d catch you eventually.” She pauses her rummaging, whipping back around to point at him ”They speak very highly of you by the way.” she tells him, as if the words were an important message she was tasked to bring to him. 

Of course. Conniving little shits, both of them. Trying to sell him false goods. He would have both of their heads later for hogging this pretty girl all to themselves. Telling lies. Though part of him was proud, they knew him all too well, at least well enough to know he had a big soft spot for pretty birds.

All he can do is hum, watching her with no small amount of confusion as she continues to root. It appears she’s never met a stranger, bulldozing over any social formalities unwittingly.  

“I’ve read mining used to be a big deal here, a great source of revenue.” she rambles giddily, “I didn’t think I would have much luck but look!” She yanks out an armful of dirt covered items, and bless her, Price doesn’t have the heart to tell her most of it is shit. Common coal and some exceptionally glittery rocks, but more importantly something else catches his eye, green and chitinous. 

“Is that a bloody bug?”

“Hmm? Oh yeah! Alex told me you all were looking to make some new collections, and I noticed you didn’t have much in the way of entomology. I thought it’d be a fun thing to start!”

Fun.

Price has spent years of his life, smashing these flying demons deep in the mines, and here she was catching them. As odd as she is, the pure passion in her eyes is incredibly endearing. It was already a miracle that the goofy thing had climbed down there on her own, come out with a bag full of rocks and a bug, all without being crushed, stung or bitten. 

He’d known the girl for a whole 10 minutes and already had his hands full.

He would need to have a serious talk with her about going down there again, but in the meantime he had no intention of crushing her spirit. She reminds him of Soap, brilliant and bright as a star, and it brings a fond smile to his lips. 

“Quite industrious aren’t you Miss Hadley? Looks like you’ve found quite a bit, I’ll take a better look at these in the morning” he explains, carefully placing her prizes in a bin for later, “I’ll have your payment for the donations sent later in the day. For now, It’s far too late for pretty girls to be out this late, you're soaked to the bone.” 

She blinks a bit, as if it just occurred to her, “Oh yes, didn’t think it would rain quite this hard all day.” she laughs a bit awkwardly, recollecting her soggy backpack. “I didn’t mean to disturb your evening.” she grabs her pickaxe (the one he was half tempted to hide and hope she forgot) before angling herself toward the door. 

John has to actively bite back the harsh no bubbling up his throat at her escape attempt. 

He’s never felt like such a muppet in his life. He needs to feed her, warm her up, but he has nothing here, just some granola bars and breakfast tea, no blanket, she was already shivering. 

He could bully her into his home if he really wanted to, it’s just down the road...strip her down and dry her off.

She’s halfway to the door when he breaks out of his thoughts, damn near sputtering like a drowning man. “Wait.” 

And much to his pleasure she stops on a dime, yielding easily to his voice. “Not going out there by yourself, absolutely not.” he huffs, stomping over to her, snagging his jacket from the rack beside the door and slinging it over her shoulders. He was being too much, he knows, opening the door for her and covering her with his umbrella as he ushers her to her home, taking the brunt of the rain just to keep her covered. He couldn’t help it, it was instinct, need. 

“This is very kind of you” Paloma tells him, voice grown timid, but she stops short, cold little hands giving his forearm a tug, “but we can at least share.” She presses in close, the pair now walking shoulder to shoulder in the cool summer rain. He has to clear his throat to stop the rumbling purr deep in his chest. 

“Too sweet for your own good” he murmurs, biting back a grin when she doesn’t hear him the first time. He changes tactics smoothly. 

“I said, what on earth were you doing down there?”

“Oh, just trying to give everything a go. I won’t know I like something until I give it a try right? Plus everyone here seems to need a hand, I’m just happy to help.” she smiles up at him. And John really thinks this sweet girl may stick around, not because he wants her too, but because she wants too, with a heart too big to fail. He decides he’ll help her with anything if she just asks. Hell, even if she doesn’t.

They chat idly the rest of the way, boots squelching on the muddy dirt path. He learns she’s quite the reader , and crafter, and a myriad of other things, having shoved her fingers into every pie she’s come across. He tells her about his past as a foreman, his stint in the military, his work with the museum since the earthquake, and it tickles him with how intently she listens, nodding along to his every word.  

Before he knows they’ve arrived, the soft glow of her porch lantern guiding them in, and part of him wishes she lived just a little farther away, if only to steal some extra time. 

He guides her up the steps, his hand in hers, standing dutifully as she fishes out her key and steps inside. Safe.

He’s only a little flustered when she shrugs off his jacket and swings it back over his shoulders, his height causing her to fumble a little. Shrouding him in petrichor and blueberry sugar.

“Right,” he coughs “You get warmed up, and lock this behind you, didn’t walk you home for something else to get you.” He taps at her door seriously. 

“Yes sir.” she chimes, and his stomach swoops. Fingers itching to dig into warm soft skin, he was being tested, he was certain of it. 

“John, lovie, call me John.”

“Okay John, be safe” she smiles, waving goodbye with a shy wiggle of her fingers. He has to make himself turn away,  waits to hear the click of her lock before trotting down her steps. 

John purrs the whole way home. 

[mihodm]

I haven't found a suitable Gaz cat, so here you go...