#tf 141 x oc

[mi-i-zori]

A Tiny World - 2

CoD - 141 x Snail (OC/Fem!Reader)

SYNOPSIS : Stardew Valley time with Snail, Gaz and Price.

Warnings : None. But please read the Author’s Note below.

Author’s Note : Snail is an OC that can be read as a Fem!Reader - I do my best no to describe her too much, but may sometimes say that she’s small (height) and has long hair.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

OC Masterlist

Main Masterlist

A Little Snail Under the Rain - Masterlist

Aside from Animal Crossing, Snail really likes playing Stardew Valley.

Actually, scratch that. She loves it.

She bought the guide to make sure her farm is as efficient as possible. She planned it all thoroughly, from the kind she chose at the very beginning, to the animals and crops she wanted the have, where she would put them, and so on.

She’s got a part of her land fully dedicated to mystic trees associated with mushroom logs, because it wouldn’t be her farm if she didn’t make a gargantuan amount of profit based on them mushies.

The chickens, ducks and dinosaurs are all on one side of the road situated at the bottom of her farm, while the cows, goats and pigs are on the other side. All the tools she needs to make cheese, mayonnaise and dried resources are placed right next to each other, not far from the ponds. All the products she makes are close to a selling box, so she can sell everything right after collecting it.

She’s working really hard to offer tons of void mayonnaise to Kroby so she can ask them to be her roommate. For now, she’s got a cat named Mochi that’s always sleeping on her bed and proudly wears a green top hat she got on St Patrick’ Day.

Believe it or not, Price loves to watch her play. The whole setting of the game reminds him of the time he used to spend at his grandparent’s farm in the English countryside, all those years ago. He remembers helping them with all kind of crops and animals, and running across their land and the nearby village with other children his age. Good, simpler times.

He also has to admit that the way she organises her findings in the museum by colours is extremely satisfying to watch. And seeing her get all excited when she finally finds something new to add to her collection is also pretty endearing.

She also got Gaz to play too !

They help each other out with their farm - they’ve become pros at it, at this point. Both their greenhouses are filled to the brim with ancient fruits, which immediately go into an army of kegs to be brewed into wine. They make plans on how to deals with the upcoming seasons together.

They also switch consoles to help each other with the tasks they like the least. Snail isn’t really fond of going into the mines - she’d rather enjoy the rainy days and go fish and forage all around the game. Kyle, however, enjoys doing challenges into the mine more that running around trying to look for resources. So they efficiently help each other to level up and fill the chests on their farms with everything they need, sprawled on top of each other on their beds in a comfortable silence.

They rule over every single event in the game.

And they absolutely love gossiping about the characters - to the point that other soldiers on base think they’re actually saying mad shit about real people.

They don’t bother correcting them. Their confused faces as they realise they’ve been talking about marrying or divorcing three people in the same week make it all worth it.

It gets a good chuckle out of the team.

[xxundeadfanboixx]

Random incorrect quotes between a couple of my OCs and the Task Force 141 members :}

Price: We need a new way to lure in new soldiers.

Ghost: Maybe we can have some fun, interactive events!

Sparrow: Gaz bath water.

Gaz: ABSOLUTELY NOT!

Dust mite: Oh-? Hello again? You know, we really need to stop meeting like this.

Ghost: Maybe we would, if you would STOP BREAKING INTO MY FUCKING BARRACKS!

Price: What have you done with Ghost?

Dust mite: Nothing. ...why? Do you think I should do something?

Gaz: Damn, the powers out.

Sparrow: Don't you worry, I've got this!

Sparrow: *Stomps her foot*

Gaz: Wha-?

Sparrow: *Her sketches light up*

Soap: Dust mite? What are you doing here?

Dust mite: *Crawling out of a vent, covered in dust and grime, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and some khaki shorts. They lost a flip flop somewhere in the air vents*

Dust mite: My best.

[thechaoticcheese]

Ya know, been thinking of if there was another AU with Cheese being in a poly with 141 and I can see it, however it is the most not-sexual relationship ever. Like it's mostly romance and such, jokes and shit, but Cheese is very iffy about their body being seen by the guys and they respect the hell out of them so it's mainly just soft kisses and flowers, drawings being passed around, small trinkets. It's cute. 141 just need cute romantic moments and I'll give it to them via Cheese because they're very fucking awkward but in that cute way(i fucking hope anyways).

[theblondbirdie]

Feelin' nostalgic, like I absolutely adore my current baby, but mama misses her original baby 💔 She was such a beauty

[mrsparrasblog]

College roommate Ghost pt 2

pt1

College Ghost who walks shirtless in your dorm all the time just to bother you.

College Ghost who sees you do your silly night routine that leaves you smelling like cinnamon, strawberries, vanilla, and all that stuff.(He says you stink but smells your sheets when you shower)

College Ghost who thinks about ripping those silly pink satin pajamas off your body.

College Ghost who wakes up every day watching you do pilates and mocks you for it, "Never done a real workout, princess?"

College Ghost who hates you so much that he doesn't stop talking about you to Price, Gaz, and Soap.

College Ghost who sleeps with the complete opposite of you( girl male with different features) and just can't cum.

College Ghost who is only meaner to you since that accident.

College Ghost who walks in on you getting pounded in the community shower by your trust fund law boyfriend, while all you do is stare at the wall, hoping the miserable sex is soon over.

College Ghost who is definitely not jealous, never.

College Ghost who, on one of his drunk nights, brings home a girl he knows you hate and fucks her while you are peacefully asleep in the bed right next to him.

College Ghost who never thought you could be that furious, and regretted his choices when you told him that it didn't surprise you because he wasn't anything more than an insufferable man-whore brute.

College Ghost who was kinda sad but would never admit it when you stopped talking to him for a week after the incident.

College Ghost who drank himself into oblivion every night and hated waking up to your usual "choke on it" note with the aspirin.

College Ghost who walks in on you having a fight with your boyfriend, seeing how your boyfriend just hit you.

College Ghost who sends you to your room straight away, acting like a wall to protect you.

College Ghost who loses control and punches that man into the hospital.

College you who would never fall for Simon Riley; he was just a brute who hated your guts, right?

[luvvictoria]

I've been thinking abt a poly!tf141 with a fem!reader who like is from the country side AND I'M CRACKING, OH LAWD!!!

Task Force 141 had seen you kill a man from 700 meters away. They had seen you tear through enemy lines with the precision of a seasoned warrior, your movements deadly and efficient. But what they hadn't seen—what they couldn’t wrap their heads around—was the life you returned to after every mission.

Because while Ghost, Soap, Price, and Gaz spent their leave in safe houses, military bases, or the occasional urban apartment, you?

You went home.

To the countryside.

To your massive, luxurious farmhouse nestled in the hills of a quiet village, where the air smelled of fresh hay, wildflowers, and the occasional whiff of cow.

And when TF141 finally visited, they were not prepared.

The First Time They Saw the Farm : "What the fuck—" Ghost had been the first to say it when you pulled up to your estate in an old pickup truck, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as you parked in front of a sprawling wooden house with a red-tiled roof.

There were animals everywhere.

A massive black and white cow lazily chewed its cud near the wooden fence. Chickens and roosters strutted about like they owned the place. A gray donkey stared at them with judgmental eyes. Two ducks waddled past as if they were on a mission. Dogs barked excitedly at the sight of you, tails wagging. A cat lounged on the porch, stretching in the warm sun.

And then—a fucking horse trotted up to you, nuzzling into your palm like a puppy.

"Price," Gaz whispered. "She has a fucking farm."

"A fancy one at that," Soap muttered, still stunned.

"You lot gonna stand there all day?" You grinned, tossing your duffel bag over your shoulder. "Come on in. Dinner’s almost ready."

They were bewildered. They had spent years with you, fighting side by side, seeing you covered in blood, sweat, and gunpowder—and now you were leading them up the front porch of your cozy countryside mansion like a perfect little housewife.

And the worst part? They liked it.

You, The Deadly Soldier and The Perfect Housewife

Soap had expected you to relax on your leave. Maybe sleep in, drink some tea, read a book.

But no.

You were up at the crack of dawn, slipping out of bed before any of them could pull you back in, dressed in overalls and a white tank top, heading out to feed the animals like it was just another mission.

"Morning, sweetheart," Price murmured, leaning against the doorway as he watched you toss hay to the horses.

"Morning, Captain," you teased, kissing his scruffy cheek before moving on to collect eggs from the hens.

Ghost watched in silence, arms crossed, as you scolded a particularly feisty rooster. "You peck me one more time, and I swear to God, I’m making soup outta you."

Gaz almost choked on his coffee when you turned around and gave them the sweetest, most innocent smile.

"You boys want breakfast?"

Fifteen minutes later, they were sitting at a massive wooden table in your warm, sunlit kitchen, eating fresh farm eggs, homemade bread, and smoked bacon.

And Soap was ready to propose.

Domesticity With a Side of Chaos

Price: Loves sitting on the porch with a cigar, watching you work. He helps with repairs, fixes fences, and absolutely adores the peacefulness of your home.

Ghost: The animals are terrified of him at first (except the donkey—the donkey hates him). But the barn cats adopt him, curling up in his lap whenever he sits down.

Soap: Thinks farm life is the best thing ever. He learns how to milk a cow, names every single chicken, and gets way too attached to a piglet.

Gaz: "Babe, I love you, but this rooster is evil." (He got chased one too many times.)

And at night?

After a long day of farm work, you slip into something soft and lacy, curl up in their arms, and remind them that you’re not just a soldier, not just a farmer—you’re theirs.

They Never Want to Leave

By the end of their stay, not a single one of them wants to go back.

"You sure we have to leave?" Soap pouts, feeding the ducks.

"Darlin’," Price murmurs against your neck one night, arms wrapped around you in bed, "Ever thought about retirin’ here? With us?"

Ghost doesn’t say it out loud, but when he watches you laugh, your hands covered in flour as you bake bread, he knows he never wants to be anywhere else.

And Gaz?

He just sighs, watching the sunset over the hills. "I never thought I’d say this, but…I think I’m in love with farm life."

They were all in love. With you. With this. With the life they could have, if only they stayed.

Maybe one day.

For now, they’d enjoy every stolen moment in their countsyde paradise. But what if we make thing spicy ? A little bit, at least.

Ghost Was The First To Break

Ghost had held strong. Longer than the others.

While Soap got weak-kneed watching you bend over to pick up hay, and while Gaz couldn’t stop staring at your thighs in those tiny denim shorts, Ghost had kept his cool.

Until that damn sundress.

White. Light. Flowy. Just enough fabric to tempt, but never satisfy—clinging to your curves, slipping off your shoulders as you carried a bucket of water to the horses.

He had been cleaning his rifle on the porch, but his grip tightened the moment he saw the fabric sway with your every step.

And then?

You had the audacity to look over your shoulder and wink at him.

He dropped the rifle.

Soap Lost It In The Barn

Soap had always been shameless about his attraction to you.

But you?

You were even worse.

It was an accident—(was it?)—when you walked into the barn one night, looking for something. The others were inside, drinking whiskey in the house, but Soap had been alone, brushing down one of your horses.

And then he saw you.

Wet.

Covered in rain.

Your thin white blouse clung to you, completely see-through, nipples pebbled against the fabric.

"Lass," he had rasped, watching as you closed the barn door behind you, stepping forward, voice all honeyed and sweet.

"Johnny," you had purred, voice dripping with something that wasn’t innocence, "I’m cold."

He snapped.

The horse had seen things that night.

Price Was The Most Dangerous

Price was a man of control.

A man of restraint.

A man who knew how to bide his time.

But you?

You tested him.

You liked to push. You liked to see how far you could go before he gave in.

And God help you—you found his limit.

It was late. The others were asleep. You were making tea in the kitchen, standing on your tiptoes to reach a mug from the top shelf.

Price had walked in just as your nightgown slipped up your thighs.

It wasn’t fair.

The soft, white cotton. The little lace trim. The way your bare legs looked so smooth, so inviting—and the sleepy way you turned, so unaware of what you were doing to him.

You looked up at him, mug in hand, and smiled. "You want some tea, Cap?"

And then—his hands were on your hips.

Voice rough.

"You know damn well what I want, sweetheart."

Gaz Had It The Worst

Gaz?

Gaz was a goner the first time he saw you in nothing but boots and his shirt.

You had come in from the field soaked in sweat, hair messy, thighs speckled with dirt. You had tossed your muddy clothes into the laundry room, grabbed his green tactical shirt, and walked around the house like it wasn’t driving him insane.

"Babe," he groaned, rubbing a hand down his face, watching you stretch, the hem of his shirt riding up to dangerous levels.

You blinked. All innocent. "What’s wrong?"

Gaz was a patient man. A respectful man. A man who was about to lose his goddamn mind.

"Come here."

You smirked, walking over slowly, pressing your hands to his chest.

"You’re so easy to rile up," you giggled.

His hand wrapped around your throat.

"And you’re about to learn what happens when you push too far."

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

⚔️ Task Force 141 - NFL AU 🏈

by me (sleepyconfusedpotato) and @alypink ! This AU will include some Original Characters made by us both!

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New Hampshire 141s, a new rising american football team whose players dominantly came from the United Kingdom, is ready to face the NFL season!

As the previous Head Coach, Herschel von Shepherd got fired by the General Manager MacMillan, John Price (who has roots in rugby) got chosen by MacMillan to bring the team to victory. Let us see which players caught Coach Price's eyes!

John Price (HC)

John Price was born in Liverpool, England, but moved to America when he was still very young due to his father being deployed from the military to an American base. Although his father retired a couple of years later, they decided to stay in America. He grew up loving sports as a child but American football always piqued his interest more than any other sports. He played safety in middle and high school, but in his junior year, he had Meniscal tears that prevented him from ever playing again. John was heavily depressed after his injury, one day one of his close friends, Nikolai, who was also one of his fellow teammates on his high school team, told him to cheer him up to go watch the team play or to attend the training camps, John agreed and started assisting to the games and eventually started to think about becoming a head coach. He was recommended by his former high school head coach to take the job as a defensive coordinator for the New Hampshire Wildcats, a college football team. His performance and playbook were impressive, leading the Wildcats to reach a bowl and winning it twice. He proved to be fit and ready for a professional football team in the NFL and was hired as a defensive coordinator by the New Hampshire 141’s, by the HC at that time, Herschel von Shepherd. His first two seasons were disastrous as there was friction between the players and their head coach, most of the players disagreed with Shepherd's decisions and playmaking. To add to that, he seemed to never care about the player's input or needs. Although in those seasons they held a record of 4 wins and 12 losses, the General Manager of the team noticed his defense was the best in the league for both points and yards, and also noticed that a good portion of his defense players were selected on the all-pro team of those two seasons. After the owner and GM fired Shepherd as a Head Coach, John took his place.  In his first seasons with the 141s, he restructured the team and went to playoffs and one NFC championship. As he wanted to improve his team, he started attending college football games, he attended once a college game in which he met the offensive coordinator at the time, Aly, and after the game he met her to ask about some players he was interested in on her actual team, for QB and WR positions, they became acquaintance since that day and kept communication for some time, as she sent some prospects his way. She also requested his help every now and then, making him attend her games and inviting her over to watch the 141s too. After spending time together and sharing the same interests and love for football, they started to date but kept it low as two months later, John hired her as his new offensive coordinator.

#26 Kyle Garrick (WR)

the most responsible and reliable player of the team. Kyle’s dad was an ex-WR and a former head coach out of a college football team. His father is a very hardworking man and disciplines his son like a football player, and with that, comes a great expectation for Kyle since his high school years. Kyle is extremely reliable, responsible, and respected on and off the field. He is HC John Price's favorite due to his work ethic. Kyle believes in having discipline in everything he does to be one of the best. He keeps a picture of his girlfriend, Eleanor Graham (Ladybug) everywhere, especially in his locker room as he says she brings him good luck for catching the hail mary’s from Alex.  Kyle and Alex met in Baylor University, where they played together and won many games, including several bowl games. They became best friends in and out of the football field, supporting each other infinitely. “You've got friends nearby.” On Alex’s quote, “I can throw the ball like ‘fuck it, he’s over there somewhere’ and Kyle would magically appear and catch the ball. He’s always at the right place.”

One day during practice Alex was throwing the ball too far to the left, which headed straight towards her head. On instinct and in an attempt to catch the ball, Kyle collided with Eleanor, which bruised her arms. Instead of being upset like how Kyle would expect her to react, she laughed loudly at him, saying that she chose to sit there. She knew the hazard of studying near a football field. Even though Eleanor said she can take care of her bruises, Kyle insisted on nursing her. (Alex SMILED ear to ear). They both met from time to time. Every practice, Kyle always looks for Eleanor on the side of the field. Eleanor’s laid-back personality often bothers Kyle as she's a damn med school student, but through her, Kyle learns how to slow down and live in the moment. Love bloomed between them and they became a couple midway through freshman year. 

When Kyle was drafted to the NFL to be with Alex for New Hampshire 141s, Eleanor was there with him when he received the call from HC Price. Though Eleanor has to stay in Texas to continue her studies, Eleanor travels to New Hampshire often to visit Kyle.

#31 Alex Keller (QB)

Alex is the quarterback of the 141s, second draft pick and first QB of his university. He is very skilled and hard-working, he is in love with water girl Farah Karim and aspires to be like Tom Brady. He and Kyle Garrick (WR) met in their first year of freshman in University and they played since their first year as the duo of QB and WR (Burrow and Chase vibes) and were drafted together in the NFL draft by the same team. Young duo but very effective especially during the regular season. Alex Keller met Farah Karim in his rookie season during training camp in his first year and has been infatuated with her. Since then, he has tried to score ASAP or reach 4th down so he can sit on the bench and talk with her. Whenever he can, he visits and picks her up from University and helps her out whenever he can in anything she would need.

#70 Simon Riley (TE)

Simon Riley used to be a rugby player in England. He joined the rugby team during his college days and met Price as one of his coaches, who trained and guided him to become one of the most dominant flankers in college rugby. Unfortunately, though he’s always dependable whenever he’s on the field, Simon was often riddled with injuries. His quiet personality didn’t help his case either, bearing the pain in his left leg in silence, until one day, he tore his ACL during an important game which cost the team their winning chances. Simon rested for a whole year to heal his knee. Together with his familial struggle, he contemplated quitting being an athlete. That was until Coach Price offered him a fresh start in the USA. As a flanker is equivalent to the Tight End position in American football, Price told him that he would be perfect for the role. Simon was adamant at first as he was still injured and how he’d be able to completely heal from this devastating injury. But when he said that in America they could find him a good physiotherapist to help him heal his knee, he reluctantly accepted the offer.  Simon got into the draft and was a first-round pick due to how much of a good player he was in rugby. On his first day on the team, he met the other players who got drafted, but the most important and the most fateful meeting was when he got introduced to Charlotte Le Jardin (nickname Jade to simplify her last name), a physiotherapist that Laswell had promised help him to heal his ACL and help him regain his top form. It was a rough road, but with every step he took, Jade was there to help him.  Now, every injury he has he doesn’t stay on the sidelines but goes inside the tent or the stadium so he can be checked by her. Whenever Jade’s out watching the game, he scores more than usual or gets distracted. He often carries the team, especially during the conference championship games. 

#71 Johnny MacTavish (RB)

Johnny MacTavish was born and raised in Scotland. After high school, he was offered an academic and sports scholarship to a prominent university in the USA. He began his football career when he was a freshman at University as a very talented runner, which elevated him as the starter RB on his fifth game. In his senior year he was  awarded the Heisman Trophy winner at college, but due to a shoulder injury, he missed being the top pick at the draft. He was later selected by the New Hampshire 141s and got put in as a starter as soon as he got drafted. He has good chemistry with his team but gets injured by overdoing himself or trying to tackle defensive players on the other team. He is also constantly with Jade for treatment and often misses important playoff games. Johnny is a very talented running back and that is why HC Price can’t get rid of him no matter how he misses practices and meetings and how his personal life affects his performance on the field. He always tries to take his friend Simon Riley to social gatherings and social media, but he completely shuts him down every time. That's different on the field though, as whenever Johnny's going to play a run, Simon will always be there in front of him to push the tacklers away, making way for Johnny to score a first down or a touch down. They're an unstoppable duo together. Johnny is very popular among female fans, making his jersey the one with the most sales every year. His dating story is pretty large and his games are always attended by the women he dates (which constantly changes).

some memes I made 😭

Here's the Hereford 141S' Logo and jersey design! The logo is heavily inspired by the Task Force 141's logo, so it's pretty much just a sporty twist of the logo!

More characters underneath the cut!

#11 Alejandro Vargas (MLB) and #22 Rodolfo Parra (OLB)

(Drawing to be posted!)

Alejandro and Rudy both moved to El Paso, Texas when they started high school at the age of 14 years old. They were avid football (soccer) players during their time in Mexico, but when they started High School they began to play football. Both Alejandro and Rodolfo played as Linebackers, Ale being MLB and Rodolfo being OLB. They did amazing in High School then they both received a scholarship to attend the university in Dallas, Texas. Both of them were later selected to do the NFL Pathway program, for both of them. Being together since their childhood years, high school and university they were a packaged deal and were both selected on the same team, same position on the NFL draft.  Alejandro is especially hyped when playing against Philip Graves, QB of the Dallas Shadows. They have had beef with each other on and off the field since they played against each other for the first time. Ale’s average sack during a game against Dallas is approximately 5 per game, he sometimes is way too harsh while tackling making him get a couple of flags whenever he blitzes and sacks. He’s often scolded by his friend Rudy, but he does not care as long as he can sack Graves.

Kate Laswell (Defensive Coordinator)

(Drawing to be posted!)

was raised in Virginia, USA. Both her parents and brothers loved football and so did she. Since elementary, she watched and never missed a game during weekends, she always had a fascination for the Chicago Bears and their ‘85 team. Her father told her about how that defense, without an extraordinary QB or offense made them win the superbowl and also made them the best defense of all time. After witnessing that season and that Superbowl, she fell in love with how the defense scheme in football works. Unfortunately professional football for women wasn’t an option, so she studied a lot to become a defensive coordinator. She studied day and night, memorizing the plays, analyzing games and creating new playbooks since she was young. She struggled a lot to have an opportunity since it was a male-dominated team. One of her childhood friends made it to the roster to become a defensive coordinator for the Colorado Buffaloes College Football Team, he was a good coach but not “impressive”. She supported him by attending his games but couldn't help but try to talk to him whenever she thought he could do better, often interrupting his play callings during his games to make him change the play, and it always worked. She and his friend attended a College Bowl, and met John Price at that game, the three of them watched the game and she started to tell both of them what adjustment she would do for both teams, and that piqued John’s interests as she was awfully right, he was impressed by how well she read offense’s routes and how she was able to change from a 3-4 or 4-3 to a hybrid defense. He decided to give her a chance and hired her as his new defensive coordinator for the 141’s and established a very good partnership and friendship with her ever since.

Farah Karim (Intern Physical Therapy Student - Watergirl)

(Drawing to be posted!)

Farah Karim is a university medical student who got an internship in his junior year of college to be the water girl and help around the New Hampshire  141s team. She comes from an immigrant family and is the pride and joy of her parents. She struggled so much in her younger years to pursue an education and get into a good college in the USA, she managed to get a scholarship due to her great school performance and was given the chance to work with a professional football team. She met Alex Keller after his rookie season and developed a close friendship with them that later turned into a romantic interest. She is grateful for his help and also supports him during games. Her classmates usually bug her by asking Farah to let them meet Alex or to set them up with him, which she dislikes very much.

(OC) Alyssa Martinez (Offensive Coordinator)

Aly was born in Mexico and moved to the USA thanks to a scholarship she received when she graduated from High School and moved to Texas to attend college. As soon as she graduated from Texas A&M holding a Bachelor of Science in Sport Management, she started working as an offensive coordinator at a local highschool. She then escalated to being an offensive coordinator for the College she attended. Aly managed to take the team to a College Bowl where she met 141s Head Coach John Price and became acquaintances after that game, they kept communication after that game, as Aly asked for suggestions for her playbook and she helped Price on suggesting him prospects for the upcoming draft selection and also players on free agency.  She was later hired by Price as his offensive coordinator and they began to have a low key romantic  relationship. She specializes in West Coast offense, having her team play the Air Coryell scheme. She suggested Price to draft Alex Keller as he was the perfect pocket passer that would fit their offense perfectly. She’s an avid Tom Brady fan.

(OC) Charlotte Le Jardin (Physical Therapist)

Originally from England, Jade was adopted by an American couple and moved with them to the United States at an early age. Her parents, Eli and Gracie, worked at Bravo Stadium, home of the 141s, and Jade became a constant presence on the sidelines. As time went by, the Bravo Stadium became her home. Jade started helping around the sidelines bringing water, towels, medical kits, and even helping out in the blue tent, all the while completing her college in biological science and doctor of physical therapy (DPT), and of course, licensing in Physical Therapy. When she got her license, her experience was already on par with the other physiotherapists since she had been jumping from senior to seniors, learning and practicing all she could. Kate Laswell who has been seeing Jade there since she was a teenager, hired Jade as one of the many physiotherapists for 141s, and with that came a fateful challenge: a newcomer Tight End with a torn ACL from his rugby days, who’s trying to get back to his top form in order to play in the NFL.

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PHEW so there you have it! If you've read it this far, oh my LORD me and Aly love you so much! This is a pretty severe brainrot that we had, so hope you like it!

And let's enjoy the 2024 NFL Season 🏈🏈🏈

Hope you like it! 🥰🥰

[meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender]

Summary: You had only wanted to petition the god of summer for rain to ease the drought. Locked away for your crimes, the god of summer, Johnny comes to your aid to set all things right. Eventual Poly 141.

A/N: Please comment and reblog. Thank you to @ethereal-night-fairy and @wildflower-and-honey for feeding my brain worms. I love you both and cannot thank y'all enough <3 Thank you, @saradika, for the beautiful dividers I use in everything. @itsagrimm it would feel wrong not to tag you in something I had written.

CW: (18+) Children begone! PIV smut, swearing, a Dyslexic wrote this, Religious Kinks, some violence. Let me know if I missed anything!

NO AI

Leave a comment and reblog!

Even on a summer night, wrapped in darkness and starlight, sweat insisted on gathering at your temples. The fire cracked as you added your willow bark and woven cattails to the flames, praying to the god of summer, Johnny, for rain. You anxiously rubbed your arm over your beloved leaves' trellising along your arms, watching the embers' pops fall on dead grass as you stood beside your bucket of dirty water. Crispy and dry, shriveled and withered, the once green leaves of the oaks looked yellow, some falling away to join the dusty ground below. When you traveled to the lake to gather your offering, the water seemed putrid, mostly evaporated, leaving muddy banks to dry in the heat. It reeked a musk so awful; you wondered how even the fish stood it.

Come harvest, the looming hunger would cause an instability you feared. If the tradespeople hadn’t food, your people would not have even a foraged berry; the livestock not a blade of grass to chew.

“The council of elders dictated no fires, little lady.”

You jumped, turning to face Phillip Graves, your neighbor and ever-faithful watchdog for Elder Sheppard. Clutching the fabric of your dress, you licked your lips before tilting your chin up.

“Someone had to appeal to the gods about the drought. Or does the council think they can strong-arm the clouds to gather?” You bit. Pressing your lips together as Elder Sheppard followed behind his dog.

“My mother used to wear the robes of a priestess. I find it odd you wear those robes as well when the last of them burned with her body,” Sheppard noted.

The body of the last holy woman, who had mysteriously burnt to death in her home as her son had conveniently been away, was found with chains tethered to her body. Your family had always insinuated it was Sheppard who had murdered his mother and tried to cover it up, but there was no proof, no investigation.

Power begets power without hesitancy, and nothing made Sheppard hesitate.

“They were a gift, Elder-”

“Stolen or forged items ain’t gifts, little lady,” Phillip interrupted. He moved to stand beside you, circling you wolfishly. His grin never seemed to fit his face, always too small for proportion, a liar in disguise—a mutt of deception.

“How dare you imply such things about my character without proof?” You hissed, hands coming to clutch your skirts.

Phillip lurched forward, grabbing your arm. He tore your sleeve from your dress, the fabric popping at the delicate seams. You stepped back, only for him to hold your arm still in a grip that dimpled skin and muscle. Pain simmered below his touch, dancing with the fear curling in your throat. Philip glared at the tendrils of silver scars blessed to you by Kyle, god of Spring.

If Sheppard killed his mother, what would keep him from murdering you?

“Are there more marks?” the elder inquired, hooking a finger under your belt with a tug to suggest removing the garment altogether. 

Enraged, you smacked his hand, retrieving your arm from Phillip’s death grip, “My body is none of your concern!”

“The safety of the village comes before you!” Graves sneered, yanking your skirts towards him until you toppled forward. His hands moved to your hips, and you shoved at him until his hand came sharply against your cheek, the sting of the slap making you gasp.

Phillip… had hit you. Your eyes stung with tears as you grappled against him, shoving your elbows and hands anywhere near his body until you were free, only to be pulled back by Sheppard.

“I think it’s time for you to learn your lesson on hearsay, foolish girl,” Shepard hissed. “The gods are unkind to those who take liberties.”

“I’ve found favor with them. Cannot learn a lesson that is not there,” you quaked. From the corner of your eye, Philip pulled his dagger from his belt, flipping the hilt. With one quick flash, he struck your temple, leaving you crumpled into the cracked, dusty ground.

The moonbeams blurred the walls covered in cobwebs, revealing a thin layer of dust on the floor. Your beloved temple once stood as the prized gem of your people, welcoming all to a haven of peace and community. Pushing into a sitting position, the room tilted like the waves of the rushing river. The darkness of the windowless temple entryway echoed with the dry summer winds, carrying nothing but the singing yearning of water from the plants.

Shepard and Graves deserved to be hung on the oak for treason against the gods, the people, and yourself. Your arms, once covered in Kyle’s beautiful marks, claiming you as beloved of spring, now were dotted with drying scratches and swollen welts of discolored skin from their harsh treatment.

“Happy summer solstice, I guess,” You huffed, slowly hobbling to your feet, using the locked door to bear your weight as the spinning room settled again.

There were worse prisons to be had than a dusty temple. At least in the dusty temple, you were safe and alone from those who wanted you dead. You furrowed your brow and pushed off of the wall, heading deeper into the holy rooms. If they had wanted you dead, they should have stabbed you.

“Gods help me,” you huffed, sitting on a bench along the hallway leading to the offering room. Closing your eyes, you leaned your head against the wall, feeling a touch of a headache thump harder against your skull.

“You called Fawn?” 

You cracked open your eyes to see a man standing at the threshold of the altar room, beams of fire light flickering from the once dark room. He stood on his toes, seemingly bursting with energy, trying to go. Where he wanted to go, who knew? Perhaps he didn’t know himself? 

“Johnny?” You guessed, gazing at the god of summer. His blue eyes glittered like gems as he nodded. 

“As smart as you are, bonny, ain’t ya?” he teased, coming closer. Standing before you, he narrowed his eyes, moving your jaw to examine your temple. “Ach, that will do. What happened?”

“Got in trouble for trying to petition for your favor. Tore my dress and all,” you huffed. “Now I'm locked in here. I'm sure I can get out through the window in the east corridor if I break it.”

Johnny chuckled, holding your chin in both hands as he ran his thumb over your temple, smearing the blood. A breath of warmth trickled from his hand, allowing the skin to stitch together. Your eyes fluttered closed as you soaked in the warmth. 

“You could. Or you can stay the night with me,” Johnny teased. “Feel better, Fawn?” He questioned, leaning down to place a kiss on the healed skin. Your face warmed, suddenly bashful of his affection. 

“If you want, I’ll spend the night, Johnny,” You muttered as his nose brushed your cheek.

“Nae, spend it if ye want. If ye did nae want to, don’t. I want our Fawn to be comfortable above all.” He gave a bright grin before leaping to his feet and stepping back. Rocking on his feet, he tucked his hands in his pockets.

“I am comfortable with you. I wouldn’t accept it if I weren’t.” You stood, slipped your hand in his, and followed him into the offering room.

The offering room, dressed in old tapestries covered in dust and neglect, still looked magnificent and of the wealth the gods deserved to be honored with. The wealth came in the delicate hand-spun embroidery lace that decorated tables, and in the hair-line needlepoint stitches one of your ancestors had sewn into the tapestries. It was in the richly dyed fabrics of floor cushions and pillows, the foraged metal bowls with intricate silver detailing that held fruits Johnny fed you with.

Fruits that he summoned after you had explained the drought and how you ended up locked in the holy shelter. You chewed on your berry, leaning against him as he pulled you to his side once you sat. The god of the West absentmindedly brushed your arm or hand like he couldn’t help it, needing your skin like a lifeline. He looked at you similarly, leaning forward as you spoke, quietly nodding or humming under his breath, staring at you like you spoke words of newfound wisdom that were important to him. Words he held deep in his heart.

“I am sorry. You might think these problems in the village bellow you, as a god,” You murmured, bashful under his intensity. Setting your meal of fruits and other delicacies aside by your water glass, you let the god pull you into his side once more. “Drought and intrapersonal strife are not new in this world- certainly won’t end anytime soon either.”

“I ken what ye mean, Fawn,” Johnny kissed your hair as you turned into his chest, more so laying on top of the god. His hand slid down to your back, continually moving. “But Kyle was the one to start the drought. These are not normal climate patterns or political drama; they come from us because we protect ours. And you are ours, no?”

You blinked, lifting your chin to look him in the eyes. You understood the gods had wanted you. You wanted the gods in return. But the gods came and went with the seasons, only able to be in the village one at a time, Kyle had once told you. Not all gods were as peaceful as the four who loved and cherished one another. Allowing the gods to gather in groups in mortal lands would destroy people, animals, and the Earth.

“Have I not dedicated my life to the service of the gods?” You questioned. “I belong to you, but you are a god- gods. You cannot belong to me, a mortal.”

Soap hummed, kissing your forehead before saying, “Willne stop us from being loyal to ye. But you need to ask for help, Fawn. We canne help without mortal consent. If either of those haughty bastards lay a hand on ye again,” He tipped your chin up and brushed his nose against yours as he spoke. “I’ll kill them myself. I’ll hunt down their soul in the other world and kill it until nothing is left of them or their legacy.”

A breath caught in your throat. The god of Summer was serious, bluntly stating how he would end the most immortal parts of a human for you. You opened your mouth once, twice, three times to find the correct words to thank him, but it did not matter. His lip quirked into a smirk, knowing he had rendered you speechless. You scoffed quietly in disbelief yourself, smiling, as you reached forward and kissed him, crawling into his lap.

“Mmf, Kyle dinne say you were this eager,” Johnny teased between kisses, eagerly pulling at your hips to be closer.

“I learned it from Kyle,” You giggled, tugging the hem of your skirts to straddle the god of the West. Johnny laughed, finding his hands beneath your skirts, slithering to knee the softest parts of your legs and hips.

“That I believe, but no more eager than me. Might say he learned it from me, Fawn,” He muttered between kisses along your neck until his hands slid to your ass, groping you while pulling you forward, cunt flush with his aching cock. You inhaled sharply, looping your arms around his neck as you gave a gentle rock of your hips.

“Go on, Fawn, take what ye need,” Soap encouraged, pulling your robes from your body with reverence for the material and laying it on the floor with care. His eyes flickered to your breasts, hands itching up to cup your breasts as he mouthed at your nipple. Closing your eyes, your hips continued their gentle grind as he licked and sucked and nipped your skin. His hips started to roll, his cock pulsing under your slick heat.

“Wanna ride you, Johnny,” You muttered as you slid your hand to his cock, stroking him with slow, twisting motions. The god tilted his head forward, resting it on your neck as he groaned.

“Ye could ask to kill me, and I would say yes,” He chuckled.

“Wouldn’t want that. Whose pretty cock would I get to sit on, then?” You giggled. “Besides, you’re not the one I want dead.” Rising to your knees, Johnny moved his hands to your hips and leaned back to watch you sink on him with a groan.

“Ye, ye want someone dead?” Johnny cursed as he throbbed inside of your slick pussy.

“Thought it was obvious, darling,” You breathed, letting your hips come flush to his thighs.

Legs settling to his sides, you sat there momentarily, soaking in the feeling of being connected to the god. He radiated heat, chest pressing against your own until your hearts beat a wild back and forth, call and response. His hand slid along your spine as the other cupped your cheek to bring your lips to his.

Just as it had been with John and Kyle, when the sun rose, and the village awoke, so too would Johnny leave. The infinite curtain of the universe had once separated your two worlds of divinity and morality. Still, it had been risen for you to peek into, touching and tasking the tremendous edges of the divine.

“I adore you,” You whispered against his lips. “Come what may in the morning, I adore you.”

“Then fuck me like you mean it, Fawn,” Johnny teased, smirking. “Move those hips, Gaz won’t shut up about.” He smacked your ass, making you squeak and jolt, but his hands pushed your hips back down. Moaning, you tangled your hands in his hair as he bent his head to play with your tits.

“Fuck, Johnny,” You gasped as he moved a hand to your clit, following the tilt of your pelvis until that familiar heat simmered in your abdomen.

“Feel good, Fawn? Yer choking my cock, love.” Bending his knees, he planted a hand behind himself as an anchor and thrust his hips up, taking the breath from your lungs. Since he couldn’t rub your clit anymore, you rubbed yourself, clenching tighter and tighter as the heat in your body rose.

“Our good little mortal,” Johnny groaned. “So pretty dressed in her robes Price gifted you. Bet you would be prettier spread out on my altar, huh? Dripping on the cloth as I watch you gift me orgasms.”

“I,” You whined at a harsher thrust, hips chasing his for more.

“Dinne fash, Fawn. We all will get our orgasms from you, altar or not. You’re too beautiful not to be blissed out before us.”

Your body tightened. Wetness gushed around his cock as you came unexpectedly from his mouth. Your eyelids blurred with black and white streaks as blood rushed to your head. In all of it was Johnny’s steady thrusts and your slowing rubs, dragging you through your orgasm. Johnny grunted and came, watching his cum spurt along your folds.

You both laid back on the floor to catch your breaths, Johnny’s cock still standing at attention. Brushing your head down to the ends of your hair, he kissed you gently.

“We adore you too, Fawn. So much,” Johnny whispered. “Orgasms on our altar or not,” He joked.

“Well, that’s good. I’m sure plenty of women in the village would offer it if they knew.”

“Wouldne want them, just yours. Few in your village believe like you do. We don’t care for offerings made out of obligation.” Johnny stretched his arms up, bracketing them behind his head. “Price is thinking of how to set things right in your village. But it is difficult.”

“A good many things in life are difficult,” You agreed. “It just depends on the price you are willing to pay for peace.”

It came about Wednesday morning. You had escaped the temple days before with help from the god of Summer to find your home, thankfully untouched by the elders or their dogs. Remaining in your home or the wilds of the woods, clouds slowly gathered. Soap visited you as he could with gifts of food to sustain you and other necessities, so you did not have to go to market, but the darkness gathered.

When the storms came, winds carried the dust like leaves, pelting rocks at your walls. Thunder cracked open the skies and earth, shaking the home’s foundations. You prayed through the storm, thanking the god of summer for rain and praying that your village would not be flooded.

Most said it was an unfortunate coincidence when Phillip Graves’ home got struck and sparked like kindling.

Some said his home alight in the rain was as moving as the dawn of a new day, a reminder of nature’s might.

The smoldering embers of Phillip Graves’ home told another story as they pointed to the West, marking this as the divine punishment for his despicable behavior. That night, when Johnny entered your home, he gifted you a small cloth bag of charcoal, promising you the gods were not done working in your village.

Me again! Hope y'all enjoyed. Don't forget to comment/reblog.

If anyone knows how to format here, could you tell me how to get an extra space between paragraphs? Having everything scrunched together is driving me nuts. When I try manually, the format reverts to the original. Any tips/tricks are welcome :)

[lieutenantfloyd]

[sapchat]

Johnny boi

[rorylovesangst]

A Burning Hill

construction worker/underground fighter simon riley x waitress

mood board

song of the chapter is I Bet On Losing Dogs by Mitski

tws: sh injury, physical discomfort, emotional distress, self-deprecation

previous chapter → chapter 3 -> next chapter

word count: 2.5k

The next time you see him, it’s not at the diner. But you really wish it was.

The bell above the pharmacy door cuts through the heavy quiet with a sharp, irritating jingle. The air is thick and stale, heavy with the scent of cardboard, antiseptic, and damp. You pull your coat tighter around your body, its nylon whispering as you move, and your sneakers squeak against the warped linoleum, leaving small wet prints behind.

The overhead lights flicker faintly, casting yellow, uneven shadows over the shambolic shelves. Rows of half-forgotten remedies line the aisles, their withered labels mucky and peeling. The heater in the corner gripes mellifluously, pushing out only the faintest suggestion of warmth.

You find the burn cream on the far aisle, tucked between dented bottles of rubbing alcohol and crushed boxes of gauze. You crouch, your cold, stiff fingers skimming over the boxes, your eyes snagging on the bold prices: $17.99. $23.95. $19.90. An acidic knot twists in your chest. It might as well cost your entire paycheck.

The bell above the door chimes again, and the sound of boots scuffing against the linoleum cuts through your thoughts. You shift slightly, keeping your focus on the shelves and their ludicrous prices.

Embittered, you snatch a box of the cheapest cream and stand up too fast, your heel catching gawkily on the edge of your coat. You stagger backward, colliding with something solid—no, someone.

“Shit—sorry,” a voice rumbles behind you, low and familiar, vibrating through you like an aftershock as their breath puffs across your shoulders, balmy and minty.

Your breath catches, and you whirl around on your heels. His face is right there. Broad shoulders framed by a battered green jacket, the same blond buzz cut, and eyes so stygian they feel like ink.

Riley. Coffee, light and sweet.

For a moment, you’re too agitated to speak. The box of burn cream slithers from your fingers, thudding softly to the floor. He bends to grab it, rising in one smooth motion, holding it out like an offering.

“You okay?” He’s watching you with a smirk, cool and coy.

“I’m fine,” you say nippily, hell for leather. You pluck the box from his hand, holding it in a hermetic embrace against your belly.

Your eyes flick from his hands, seething and raw, back to his face. “You should clean those up,” you blurt, leaking like a faucet from your mouth, as you stare at the shelf behind him, the vitamins coalescing into a colorful, prismatic haze.

He raises an eyebrow, the faintest hint of amusement wrestling at the corner of his mouth. His knuckles flex as he rubs one hand over the other, and his voice carries a dry, razz edge. “Clean ‘em up, huh? That coming from you? With that look on your face?”

You blink, startled. “What?”

He gestures loosely toward you, his dark eyes probing over your posture, your face. “Your eyebrows are all pinched up. You’re holdin’ that burn cream like your life depends on it.” His tone softens, a few opaline teeth keeking through his curling lips. “Not exactly subtle.”

Your cheeks prickled hot, and you innately loosen your grip on the box. “It’s fine.” You’re flaring, voice serrate, defensive. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” he replies, tipping back slightly, though his gaze doesn’t waver. “Bet it doesn’t even hurt, right?”

“It doesn’t,” you snap again, the words brazen this time.

He chuckles, low and throaty, the sound entwining around you like vines. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re holding yourself so tight you might snap in two.”

You scowl, shifting on your feet, suddenly hyperaware of the dull throb radiating from your chest. “Shouldn’t you be worrying about your own injuries?”

“Oh, I am,” he says with a grin, holding up his hands dramatically. “Look at me. Poster child for health and safety.”

Against your better judgment, an infinitesimal laugh escapes you before you can stop it. A few more glistening teeth poke out from behind his grin, and you immediately hate yourself for finding him funny.

“Seriously, though,” he continues, his tone softening just a touch, “you should take care o’ that. Burns ain’t something you want to mess around with. Get infected easily, y’know?”

You flub for words, making them come out like a dog's breakfast. “I—I know,” you mutter.

“Good.” He nods toward the cream still clutched in your hand. “Tha’s a start. Now you jus’ need to stop looking like you’re about t’bolt.”

Your eyes dart to his, startled by his bluntness. “I’m not—”

He cuts you off with a wry smile. “Yeah, you are.”

You open your mouth to argue but close it again, the words failing you. You glance down at the burn cream, suddenly feeling the weight of his attention like a spotlight.

“I should go,” you blurt, stepping back.

“You’re good at that,” he says lightly, though there’s no malice in his tone.

“At what?” you snap, your embarrassment bubbling into a rolling boil.

“Running off,” he replies, shrugging. “Guess I’ll see you at the diner, sweetheart.”

The word sweetheart lands like a stone in your chest, sending a hot flush up your neck. Without another word, you turn and head for the exit.

It’s only when the cool air nips your face that you realize the burn is still safe and sound on the shelf where you’d slipped it in your panic. You don’t bother turning back. The burn will heal itself, without the aid of an overpriced cream.

Olive, of course, does not agree with you.

She’s protesting at you over the running water, your hands pruned and wet as you wash the dishes. “Blue, I’m so fucking serious! Why didn’t you get it?”

You shrug, handing her a plate to dry. “I dunno. Slipped my mind, I guess.”

“Slipped your mind?” she scoffs, glaring at you with her jade eyes, “You are telling me it slipped your mind to get the burn cream as if you can’t hear the gauze every time you move.” You nod, and she scoffs again. “Ill buy you some then.”

“No—no. Olive, seriously. I will get it. I swear.”

“You better,” she demands, draping the rag over your shoulder before going back out to the front. You watch her go, your hands still submerged in the soapy water. The warmth seeps into your skin, feeding the black holes that live deep inside you—parched, gnawing voids that grow where your bones should be. She tugs her umber hair into a clip as she walks, her hips swaying in that effortless, kittenish way she has. Olive always moves like she owns the space around her, like the world bows to her rhythm.

In the year and a half you’ve worked at the diner, she’s become a lifeline—motherly, but not your mother. She’s too young for that, only a few years older than you, and far too happy. It’s the kind of happiness that feels like a foreign language, one you’ll never learn to speak.

Olive had your back when no one else did. She let you crash at her place when things got bad, even found you that rundown ranch for dirt cheap—just a couple hundred a month. You try to repay her the only way you know how: covering shifts, cooking the occasional egg bake, and pretending not to need anyone.

But the truth is, Olive is the only one who’s seen through you.

And that’s why you’ll get the damn burn cream tomorrow. Probably.

You spend the rest of your shift crammed in the back, where the dishwater steam clings to your skin, making you feel as though you’re dissolving into the air. On your lunch break, you slump against the countertop, your arms folded like the weight of the day is too much to hold upright. Tony’s voice fills the space, rough but warm, as he flips something sizzling on the grill. He slides you a chicken quesadilla with a gruff, “Messed this one up,” followed by a quieter, “Looks like you could use the extra pounds.”

Olive’s voice cuts through the clatter of the kitchen. “Blue! Get out here a sec!”

You pause mid-bite, blinking toward the kitchen door. Tony gives you a pointed look, smirking as he flips a pancake. “Guess you’re wanted.” You sigh and stuff one more fat bite into your mouth, cheeks bulging like a chipmunk.

You rub your hands on your apron and push through the swinging door, the abrupt garishness of the diner’s main room making you squint. Olive stands near the counter, her back turned to you. But she’s not alone, and you almost choke on your food.

Olive peers over her shoulder, her perfect teeth glistening behind her pink lips. “This is Simon,” Olive says, nodding toward the man beside her. “He’s a family friend. Said he came in here the other day.”

Riley’s gaze meets yours, soft and steady. His dark brown eyes flicker with recognition, and he smiles faintly.

Olive glances from you to Riley—Simon?—her eyes narrowing as her gaze bounces between the two of you. “Have you two already met?”

Simon glances at you briefly, then back at Olive. “Something like that.”

You shift on your feet, feeling heat creep up your neck. “We ran into each other at the pharmacy,” you mumble, brushing a stray hair out of your face.

“Literally,” Simon adds with a small chuckle, but there’s no edge to it, no teasing smirk. Just an easy, almost apologetic tone.

“Ah,” Olive says, her curiosity lingering, but she waves it off. “Well, now it’s official. Blue, meet Simon. Simon, meet Blue.”

He holds out his hand, and for a moment, you hesitate. Then, reluctantly, you reach out to shake it, wary of the wrap engulfing his knuckles. His grip is warm despite his callouses and scars, and you wish you could curl up in his palm and steal all his warmth, but you pull away quickly.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, his voice low and calm. “Properly, I mean.”

“Yeah. You too,” you reply, your voice far more cloying than you intended, making you cringe.

The scrunch of your gauze sparks his attention, causing him to furrow his brows. “How’s the burn?”

You blink, taken aback. “The same as this morning,” you mumble, smoothing out your apron.

“Thought so,” he says, eyebrows slightly raised. “Burns aren’t something to mess around with.”

You nod, glancing away. “I’m taking care of it.”

“Glad to hear that,” he says with a faint smile.

Your gaze drops to his hands, the cuts on his knuckles. “What about you?” you ask, surprising yourself. “Your hands… are they okay?”

Simon glances down at them like he’d forgotten they were there, then shrugs. “They’re fine. Just clumsy, I guess.”

“Looks like more than just clumsy,” you murmur, but he doesn’t respond, just rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“You two done swapping injuries?” Olive cuts in with a grin. “Blue, Tony’s yelling back there. Simon, want me to grab you a coffee or something while you wait for Price?”

Simon nods, but his eyes linger on you for a beat longer. “It was nice seeing you again,” he says softly, stepping back to let you pass.

You mumble something resembling “You too” before slipping through the door, your pulse hastening for reasons you can’t quite place.

The quiet buzz of the diner feels like a bulky, smothering blanket, pressing down on you as you wipe the counter with bovine, ruffled motions. Your skin feels sticky, the burn on your chest starting to throb painfully; it’s alive and refusing to let you forget it, growing tentacles and eyes. The sting isn’t just a sting anymore. It’s oozing, sticky, raw in places it shouldn’t be, but you can’t bring yourself to look.

Olive’s voice breaks through the silence, humbler than usual. “Simon’s a good guy, you know.”

You freeze for just a moment, not ready to hear it. You know she’s talking about him, but you can’t quite bring yourself to nod or even respond. Your hands feel too rigid, the tingle of the burn creeping over your chest, making it hard to focus. You wish you could ignore it, wish it would go away.

Olive doesn’t push, though. She doesn’t seem to need you to respond. “I’ve known him for years. He’s the quiet type—keeps to himself mostly, but when it counts, he’s there.”

You wish your heart didn’t strain at her words. She makes it sound so simple, so tranquil. But everything about Simon feels like a weight you weren’t ready to carry. You can’t get comfortable around men. Haven’t been able to for as long as you can remember. Maybe it’s the way they look at you. Maybe it’s the way you look at them. Every part of you wants to space yourself, to keep up the walls you’ve spent years building.

You clear your throat, trying to push the uncomfortable feeling aside. “I thought his name was Riley,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “That’s what it said on his jacket.”

Olive glances up, her smile soft but knowing. “Riley’s his last name.”

You’re eyes flutter, caught off guard. “Oh.”

“Yeah, Simon Riley,” she adds, a slight warmth in her tone.

You nod, your fingers moving to polish at the counter again, but your movements are slugish now, bemused. Ronny coughs and sniffles from the back, a rough sound, cutting through the silence just as Olive speaks. His cough rattles through the diner, something almost intentionally loud about it, like he knows exactly what he's interrupting, exactly when to make his presence known. You can’t help but feel a strange sense of unease wash over you at the sound.

You shift anxiously, the burn on your chest now impossible to shrug off. It’s not just a dull throb anymore, but a sticky, aching kind of pain that pulls at the skin, and you can feel it starting to seep through the fabric of your shirt. You try to hide it, but it’s getting worse—making you feel more exposed with every second that ticks by. The tightness in your chest isn’t just from the burn. It’s the weight of your own discomfort, the way you can’t bring yourself to reach out for help, even if you know it’s getting too bad to handle alone.

Olive doesn’t press on Simon anymore, her gaze softening with a quiet understanding you can’t quite place. “He doesn’t talk much, kinda like you.”

Your hand intuitively goes to your chest, trying to kneed at the burn, but the pain intensifies, and you wince, clenching your jaw against it. You want to pull away, to escape the way it feels to be so visible—so vulnerable. But it’s too late.

Olive doesn’t say anything else, and the diner seems to settle back into its rhythm. But in the back of your mind, there’s that thought, small and growing: Simon. He might be a good guy. You just might not deserve someone like that. Not when you can’t even handle your own skin, let alone anyone else’s skin pressed against your own knowing the rot will spread.

[mi-i-zori]

Kind of !

It was actually a nickname given to her by her loved ones since she was a child before it actually became a callsign.

The main reason is that Snail absolutely loves when it rains. She won’t hesitate a second to go on a walk, a hike or workout outside the second it starts raining, and pout for a good while when the sun comes out again. She doesn’t mind running drills even if said rain becomes an actual downpour. You’ll probably even find her giggling after jumping at each crack of thunder.

Take her on a rainy walk in the forest ? She’ll be the happiest human on Earth.

She’s also never afraid to get her hands (or entire body) dirty, especially when it comes to seeing « friends » (wild animals, insects, or plants). When she comes back with her clothes covered in mud and her hair filled with the leaves or twigs it got caught on (probably when she crawled under a bush or something), you know it was a good walk.

What usually fully convinces people that yeah, « Snail » is really a suitable callsign for her, is that she also likes to munch on raw vegetables. She’ll frown a little bit when she can’t eat raw carrots right after they’ve been peeled. She likes them in every form, but she really enjoys munching on them like this the most. Same thing with salad leaves, tomatoes, cauliflowers, etc… Vegetables and fruits of all kind that can be eaten immediately.

She once tried eating an eggplant like this and immediately regretted it.

Then Roach made her taste raw celery, and she actually started keeping a list called « Veggies I Shouldn’t Munch On When Raw ». Useful, because she’ll probably end up forgetting that she already tried them after not eating them for a while.

Also, you know how snails seem to be really slow, but then you turn your head for a second and when you look back at them they’re already so far away from where you last saw them ? That’s Snail. Don’t underestimate her because she’s tiny or because of her callsign, everyone says it suits her for more than one reason, and some of them might surprise you.

I have a bunch of ideas for things to write with Snail and the 141. I just have to find the time to put them down lmao. Everything about her will be under the « oc : snail » tag ! Here is what I’ve written with her so far :

Lucky Frog - A Tiny World - Bad Puns - Rabbit Time

Snail’s Masterlist

So if you want more shenanigans with Snail and the 141, stay tuned ! 🐌

A funny conversation over the comms

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Price : Snail, you in position ?

Snail : Almost there Sir, just gotta climb this-

[Sounds of shoes slipping on dirt and gravel, of branches cracking and something hitting the microphone - all mixed with a string of « oof », « ouch », « ergh » and very imaginative curses]

Gaz : Snail ? You okay ?

Snail, groaning and sputtering : Blergh.

Soap, laughing his ass off : Got a visual of ye the second ye started rollin’ doon the hill, bonnie, beautiful.

Ghost : How’d the ground taste, Sergeant ?

Snail, huffing as she gets back up : Bad, Sir. Like wet dirt and - [She gasps.]

Price : What ? Snail ? What’s wrong ? Are you alright ??

Snail, with a baby voice : Hi Mister Toad !!

Gaz, laughing : Yeah, she’s fine.

[Price simply lets out a heavy, heavy sigh. These idiots are gonna be the death of him.]

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[xxundeadfanboixx]

Ghost: *Drinking his shitty military tea, thinking that despite of everything, life's been pretty okay*

*Some American who just spawned in his room one night, is assumed to be the janitor, no files can be found about them being hired, and is constantly sneaking into his room via the vents.*

[mentanol]

Ghost with an extremely fem partner is cracking me up.

Simon getting home from a long rough day at work, stripping off his tactical gear and heavy boots as he glances to the side to see you ... putting hello kitty stickers on his mask . Soft pink decor clashing against the deep smoky black of his mask, as the little cat prances upon it.

The next day he plans on simply wearing another one, but upon seeing you act all upset about him not wearing the one you decorated for him and looking up at him like a kicked puppy, Simon Riley ends up wearing his dark tactical gear... with hello kitty stickers on his balaclava and skull mask, staring blankly at you before biting back a gentle smile beneath the mask at your joyful smile. He presses you a soft kiss on the forehead, pulling his mask down and pretending he hates it - but he walks through the base proudly knowing he has a bit of his precious misses with him.

[gomzdrawfr]

August Doodle requests for my supporters! :p

((fyi they also wanted my oc as a cookie! so that's Raven in the middle :3))

this next one's based on the AU they've been working on, link here!! they draw cool shtuff ;D

some oc stuff too!

kofi membership link

[mrsparrasblog]

Self defense with Simon

But imagine being Johnny's girlfriend who is unable to fight, and Soap is always afraid that something will happen to you. So he tries to teach you hand-to-hand combat, but it either ends up with sex or he is afraid to hurt you.

So he asks his best mate, Ghost, for help. Ghost, of course, agrees, and soon you are in the training hall with your boyfriend, getting thrown around like a rag doll by his best friend. He has you pinned under him, over his shoulder, you are in his headlock, and lastly, you are under him as he tries to teach you how to get away from being choked.

Well, he didn’t think you’d let out a moan, and Ghost, who was just a starved animal in need of something sweet, went feral, trying everything to get you to mewl again.

Your yoga pants already had a wet stain from your arousal as he finally ripped them off and pushed his way-too-big dick inside your pleading hole while Johnny stroked himself on a chair next to you, "Told ya, bonnie, if a bad man comes, he does that to you."

"Just trying to teach you how to get out of it, luv."

Behind closed doors, Gaz and Price were stroking themselves as they watched you getting manhandled and fucked by Ghost.

-------------

"Good news, bonnie, Price and Gaz want to train with you too."