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meowpupp · 26 days

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as a thank you for hitting 1k followers, and an apology for my absence, I would like to share my take on poly!141.

poly141! x recruit!reader. 1.5k words. mentions of sex, although no smut. yet.

you're a sweet little thing. smart as a whip, nerdy, and confident. having spent most of your post highschool graduate years studying, youve acquired numerous impressive qualifications. while most people your age in university were out partying, getting blind drunk, hooking up, you were studying.

a tech genius. that's what laswell had sold you as to price. he had been hesitant to allow any new members at all, especially ones so young. and yet, taskforce 141 sees two new additions. the newest little tech genius who's climbing quickly through the ranks, and another soldier. someone by the name of roach.

at first, you weren't amused. as a woman in the military, your life was already difficult enough. being assigned to an all male taskforce felt like your worst nightmare. but after some convincing from laswell, and realizing this would be the fastest way to make a name for yourself, you sign the papers.

your first week is smooth, albeit awkward. you and the other new recruit, roach, get along fairly well. he's funny, a little dorky, but obviously skilled. he isn't as intimidating as the others, being almost as young as you. you find yourself gravitating to him often, often staying up late together, eating meals together, and even training together. you make quick friends.

and so, it's only natural that you both end up becoming… closer. late night talks turn into makeouts, and makeouts turn into grinding. it's somewhat clumsy however… as if the two of you can quite place the power dynamics.

the others, however, are much more of a challenge to get along with. you're cautious, aware these men have been in this business much longer than you. the four of them- price, ghost, gaz, and soap- are a power unit. it takes weeks for you to find your place within the team.

price tries to be welcoming, although it doesn't quite work. there's this sense of authority and power around him that makes you feel small, almost submissive. his gruff voice sends shivers down your spine each time he speaks over comms, panties growing wet each time he gives you a direct order.

it's almost as if he knows, whispering your name rather than your military nickname. his voice sounds almost seductive. it makes you feel like a pervert, imagining him growling in your ear each time you get off.

price has a way of always remaining in control and not just with you. the power dynamics within the task force are subtle yet well established. there seems to be a chain of command that follows their ranks. price on top, then ghost, then gaz and soap. you notice how they all drop casual innuendos, their affection for each other, corssing over the boundary of just friendliness.

ghost barely looks, let alone, speaks to you for the first month. you're unsure if he even likes you. on the field, he's sharp and alert. you occasionally hear him share banter with the others, but never feel brave enough to join in. the man is intimidating, almost three times your size, a quiet sort of confidence and dominance that follows him around. he's the one you train with most often.

ghost is ruthless. he slams you into the matt, somehow always ending up between your thighs, his big hands holding them apart and pinning you down. you can't help but memorise the sight. your Lieutenant, panting, slightly sweat as he holding you in such a lewd position, glaring down at you.

it's your favourite fantasy to think about late at night as you touch yourself, unaware that the walls are so thin that ghost himself hears you whimper his name. he strokes himself in time with the slick noises of your cunt, imagining how desperate you must look.

gaz isn't intimidating, per say. he isn't distant like ghost or unapproachable like price. the man has such a casual confidence and arrogance around him. he's the first to speak to you, ask you about yourself. throughout your career, you've met many military soldiers. most the men fit into two categories, misogynistic dicks who don't believe you have a place within the ranks, or disgusting perverts who want a quick fuck (most of them have wives, even kids.) but gaz is refreshing. he fits into neither.

he often starts conversations with you. asking questions and truly listening as you speak. little do you know he records each one, saving them for when he's alone late at night. something about the way you speak, your tone, the quiet rasp or accent, it makes him stupidly hard. he's not above recording you while you workout, standing just close enough to capture each huff and grunt as you lift. it's those recordings that get him off the quickest, wondering how whiny youd sound if he held a vibrator to your clit, didnt let up until you were crying and covered in slick.

and soap. the man is difficult for you to read. your first impression is that he's one of those men who fit into the ‘misogynistic asshole’ category. apart from your initial meeting, he practically ignores you.

you can tell its not deliberate. he just seems more immersed in the natural, pre-established dynamic of the taskforce. the one that doesn't include you. it takes a while, but after a month or two, your interactions become more common.

he turns out to be very respectful- even helpful. due to your background in tech, you skipped a few ranks when you joined. soap helps you in the shooting range. standing behind you, body pressing into yours from behind, correcting your posture before you fire.

you even create games with each other. he gives you little quizzes. theyre normally about gun components, military jargon, or even field upgrades. with each quiz he promises a ‘reward.’

its embarrassing whenever you blush and grow wet when he says it. the rough growl of his voice, combined with the accent he has, all makes you dizzy. you don't even notice how he plays it up, practically purring out the word, smirking as you squirm, making sure to graze his fingertips over your hot skin.

it's obvious that after a month or two, that roach is significantly more acclimated than you. it feels unfair. your relationship with each member is steadily growing, yet something about how roach interacts with them is so different. it's like you're missing a puzzle piece.

it isn't until one night when you're venting your frustration that roach reveals the reason he's clicked with them so quickly.

“It's like an initiation,” he smirks, eyes flicking away from you, “think of it kind of like…. hazing.” his eyes are almost predatory as he meets yours again, so unlike the goofy persona he usually has, “if you like, I could speak to price. they have started to discuss inviting you in.”

it's as if everything made sense now. it wasn't your fault. it was another case of discrimination, you being left out because you didn't fit into their stupid boys club.

ever since that conversation with roach, you have become frustrated, irritable, and short with them all. you fulfilled all your required tasks but refused to engage with them any further. denying invites to the pub, ignoring gaz when he tried to speak, training alone, no longer asking soap for help.

after about a week of this, price calls you to his office.

a sick sense of unease and anxiety settles in your gut. the man is so intimidating, and this surely wasn't a positive meeting. you've never been in a position like this. all throughout school, you were a grade A student, and within your years in the military, you've always maintained basic respect and politeness. you've never been in trouble with a CO.

when you step into his office, however, all your expectations are subverted. price sits at his desk, smoking a cigar. roach leans against it next to him. the two of them are speaking lowly.

price notices you first. his eyes carry an emotion you haven't seen before. lust. he's staring at you as if you're some sort of prey. with a smirk, he blows out a large puff of smoke. it curls around him, only making him more intimidating.

“if you were feeling excluded, sweetheart, you should've made me aware.” he leans back in his chair. suddenly, the room feels so small, your body getting hot, “id be more than happy to include you.”

roach walks towards you, guiding you further into the office. he doesn't let you sit, however, instead standing behind you, hands groping your hips. his fingertips slip under your shirt, brushing the sensitive skin of your stomach.

he kisses your neck, “price wants to see how pretty you are,” his hands slide further up, taking your shirt off, “let's give him a show, yeah?”

cont.

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konigsmissedbeltloop · 3 months

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”teenagers ruined cod!!!! they’re ruining the characters!!!!!”

my brother in christ people have been simping for ghost since his ass crawled his way into the 2009 mw2 you’re just salty because you didn’t hop on the sexy man train

#soap price gaz roach and ghost #have always been hotties #we’ve just taken the time to appreciate it #and now u should too #boxiirambles 🎀🩷

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cynicjovial · 1 year

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I played new horizons after some time last month and this happened

#medraw #comoc #animal crossing #acnh #appreciate man. now can you please call before coming in #i thought she would go away like when you have roaches but???? she didnt???? the fuckers were hiding in other rooms when she walked in #she we had to hangout and when she left i finally killed the last ones. very hard to find btw i had to roam every room like 3 times #so we had* typo im not rewriting all that

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4me2knowandyou2wonder · 5 months

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(some implied MCD for Roach is in this. Just skip the paragraph that begins with his name if you like to avoid that! or interpret it in a different way that should work too)

Maybe the purpose of poison ivy is to keep things beautiful.

People underestimate their effect.

Whether it’s the mark of a hot mug on a wooden table or the crumbling ruins of Pompeii, worn away by thousands of well-meaning yet selfish tourists, humans don’t see the damage they contribute until the marks are so deep that a once beautiful thing is permanently changed.

That is what happened to people in the military too, Price mused. Their governments take and take. They take the pretty things gifted to them, and then they girdle each man, before watching the vibrance of each soldier fade and flutter to the ground.

It stands to reason that the prettiest things are those which people cannot touch. The prettiest things are those which are carefully protected so that human hands cannot interfere.

The prettiest things are those which we shy away from.

A stinging caterpillar perched on a leaf, the flickering of flame, a snake curled in the warm sun. These were the pretty things that stayed pretty.

Price worried about his soldiers, each one had so much to give. And somewhere down the line, he’d started seeing them in the delicate things he’d watched fade away.

Farah was that mangled dog. The beast that must’ve been beautiful once, before human hands tore that away. Price wasn’t the one to put her in the ring, but his kind, humans, certainly had.

In the same vein, Alex was like that dog’s teeth. Her weapon, once glittery and clean, now cracked, yellowed, and stained with blood. Humans saw that pretty thing as nothing but a tool, and they pitted one jaw against another until the alabaster beauty was lost. And the human’s ideas became right, and the pretty thing was nothing but a tool. Price hoped the dog could be saved from the fighting, that she and her cracking teeth could be saved from the inevitable damage. Price knew humanity too well to believe in that hope.

Roach was that dandelion, fresh and round with potential. Price has been the one to pluck it out of his yard, his blunt hands tearing it from where it bloomed so pretty, just ruin it - to use his breath to send it out into the street where that potential would never take hold. Price hates that he is human. Price hates that he also destroys pretty things.

Gaz was still pretty. Like the untumbled river stone on Price’s desk. That scared Price. It scared him because, to Gaz, he would be the hands that tore. There would be no denying, that once Gaz’s beauty was stripped away, it would be Price’s fault. The oils of Price’s palms were what will have worn down his edges and stripped away that which made him unique.

Price can see Soap in the old apple tree that grew in that big field near Price’s family home. Tall and strong, until late summer came once more, and its apples bloomed. Then the little kids from Price’s home all clamored, like the damned to sin.

The kids tore at the apples with greed and violence, ripping away the gifts the tree seemed to have in abandon. The tree always gave. It gave and gave until its branches bowed under scrambling feet and snapped at the pull of not-weak-enough arms.

Price had watched the tree’s giving lead to its death.

The branches slowly broke away under human hands, and its gifts were forced to wane. Yet the kids still came, still scaled its trunk to get to the fruit—until their shoes girdled the bark and fingers shredded the leaves. Price had watched the tree give too much and nearly die because of it.

But Price wasn’t worried about Soap. No, Soap, like that great apple tree, would be kept safe. Because after that year, where the apples had grown thin and so boots grew less heavy, a thick harry vine had also decided to take from the tree.

Ghost was poison ivy. He’d been slashed and torn at, the ground that bore him salted and dosed in vinegar, and yet he always grew back. Strong and vengeful, he brought regret to those who touched him.

Price saw Ghost in the vine that wrapped that apple tree.

It scared the children, it made them shy away. The next year, when the apples returned, few returned to climb its branches. The brave ones were left red and damaged. Anyone who dared wade though the three-pronged flourishing underbrush learned what it meant to regret. Humans avoid discomfort, they will not approach something that could harm them.

The apple tree grew back, strong and green. Its gifts became plentiful once more. The vine twisted itself around the tree’s figure and breathed its soft rustling into the apples own. The ivy allowed the tree to keep its gifts all to itself, only having to share with only the few squirrels that learned to navigate the vine’s twistings.

Price has watched poison ivy live through the worst of human destruction. The hands that didn’t want to take—that just wanted to destroy. Price watched the evolution of the plant learn to keep those hands away.

Price trusted that it would keep those hands away from Johnny.

Ghost is poison ivy, and people itch to get away. He keeps at bay those who would take without care. He lets Soap, who has so much to give, be only for those he wants to give to.

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thatsthewrongwallcraig · 8 months

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May or may not have a bit of Clay Roach brain rot rn, and I'm thinking like.. hurt/comfort thing where reader knew Clay some years ago before the drugs and everything but lost contact, but they run into eachother again and reader is just.. heartbroken at the way he's ended up. So it leads to some old feelings coming up and some possible smut so they both can get away from their problems for a bit

My beloved nonnie, I knew I'd have a field day with this ask, but still, it somehow got rather out of hand 😅🫶🏻🖤

Old Habits Die Hard

Summary: It’s said that your pupils dilate when you look at someone you love, but is it really love or just the drugs this time?

Pairing: sub!Clay Roach x using!fem!Reader

Word Count: -4k (Y’all know I have a lot to say about Clay)

Content Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat!, Drugged-Up Smut 18+!, Biting, Bruising, Choking, Riding, Unprotected P In V, Slapping, Scratching, Degradation, Explicit Consumption of Drugs (Codeine & Paracetamol), Explicit Mentions Of Other Substances, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions Of Withdrawal, Talk About Track Marks, Clay Being A Tripsitter For Reader, Emotional Constipation And Rather Questionable Ways To Deal With That

A/N: Buckle up, friends, this will be….a trip.

Tagging the horny horde:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @cc-luvr @icarus-star @milaeth @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @blueberrypancakesworld @rocketqueen-world @lifelessvessel @doddernix @svgarcaine @amayalul @basementgrl222 @kristennero-wallacewellsver @iiheartsai @fan-goddess @shady-the-simp

No more alone or myself could I be

Lurched like a stray to the arms that were open

No shortage of sordid, no protest from me

With her sweetened breath, and her tongue so mean

She's the angel of small death and the codeine scene

- The Angel Of Small Death & The Codeine Scene By Hozier

With a cotton-dry mouth, your raspy tongue practically sticking to the roof, you cleared your throat, feeling clumps of nicotine-infused mucus rumbling in your lungs. Turning your lazy body from your back to your side, your thoroughly fogged-up mind started scrambling for a memory, a shard of something to hold on to. There was barely anything, but a comfortably perfume-doused pillow against your cheek and a warm blanket around your shoulders, both indicating that you found yourself at home at least.

The crusty residue around your weary eyes let you know that you must’ve slept like a log and upon slowly opening them up to the dimly lit bedroom you very well knew why. It should’ve sent a jostle of shock through your nerve endings but instead, a blubbered laugh trickled out of a sly grin as you studied the scene of the crime.

You knew you hated drugs, really, really despised and detested them…that was up to the point something, some not-so-minor inconvenience, rendered you desperate for something to escape yourself with for a little while. Ever since the first glass of sparkly sweet white wine at the tender age of 15 years or the first secretly smoked joint on a children's playground in the dead of night with your best friend during high school, you knew about the marvelous powers of substances and their quite excellent capability of shutting off your always-firing neurons.

Right now, as your thoughts scrambled around inside your skull, it felt as if thick tar clogged your mental gears from turning properly, and with your eyes counting at least half a dozen cough syrup bottles scattered between a blister pack of good ol’ paracetamol pills it made a whole lot of sense to you.

“Well, don’t mind if I do…” You chuckled to yourself before slipping your body from under the blanket, letting your legs dangle over the edge before searching for a somewhat still halfway-full bottle of cough syrup with one hand while the other was busy pressing two white, circular-shaped paracetamol pills out of their aluminum confines.

The decision to continue this little bender was already made but just to check in, you threw your little, digital alarm clock a brief glance.

“Yes, perfect!” You quipped in amusement upon the information that it was only Saturday afternoon, more than enough time to treat yourself to another buzz or maybe even two before winding down to be back on track and a part of the office desk machinery like every Monday.

After washing the pills down with a carefully curated overload of somewhat oily cough syrup, that stuck to the back of your throat, you moved to lean your back against the headboard to light yourself a cigarette, the sad rest of a halfway-smoked one still dangling on the brim of the stained glass ashtray on your nightstand. Just in the very moment in which you found yourself about to light the cigarette, pulling the lighter to your lips, you noticed something or much more someone out of the corner of your eye.

“What the fuck…” You muttered to yourself, discarding lighter and cigarette right back to where they came from as your eyes widened in a muffled-down sensation of surprise.

It wouldn’t have been the first time that you brought yourself a little something something back home from a bender, but it happened rather rarely still. However, something inside, down at the depths of your chest started whirring as your eyes wandered over a glossy brown mess of disheveled, curly hair. Something distinct about its color and the way the ends coiled up to bouncy curls had you feeling just too much for being intoxicated like this. For a moment, you pondered over simply evacuating your own apartment but that would’ve been nothing but ridiculous. In addition, you didn’t exactly feel like riding out your next high in broad sunlight with people nattering, chatting and buzzing all around you, nope. The surge of mellow euphoria was meant for a cold diet Coke and a Led Zeppelin record running on the player right opposite from you on the dusty TV stand.

“Hey there?”, You nudged the body to your left carefully with your elbow, “Wakey, wakey…”

“Huh?” The someone reciprocated in a slightly startled groan, the tone of his voice causing your brows to furrow because it was somehow terribly familiar to you.

This sort of raspy, sleep-drunk sigh had your mind reeling to remember the person it belonged to and as soon as the man next to you started turning himself onto his back, you nearly choked on your own breath.

“Hi…” You croaked out, your throat rendering dry and if it hadn’t been for the meticulously measured-out amount of paracetamol and codeine in your bloodstream, you would’ve plummeted into a pitch-black puddle of emotional hurt as your eyes just couldn’t get away from a pair of bright blue ones staring right back.

“Hi…” The man you knew since way before he had grown just the first stubble on his chin murmured back, a softly lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his lip to curl up.

For what seemed to be endless minutes, the both of you just stared at each other. Something led you to believe that Clay knew a bit more about how both of you had ended up at your place and you felt yourself being not completely indifferent to asking about it.

“You…huh?” You pointed your head towards him in a soft movement, resting your chin on your pulled-up knees afterward.

With a sigh, the smile on Clay’s face died away.

“I was afraid about you not remembering anything from last night, got you home.” Clay nodded whilst pulling himself up to lean against the headboard of your bed just as well, the blanket gliding down over his front and giving free sight to a severely malnourished body.

“You brought me home?” You arched your brows at him a little further, your thoughts still very busy with piecing just anything together until you eventually came to the conclusion that you’d blacked out at some point.

“Yeah, and I’m glad I did. You were there and at the same time you really really weren’t.” Whilst looking at him, the feeling of being berated by him of all people grew inside of you.

“Hmhm..judgy.” You sneered, feeling the discomfort rising in your chest.

“I’m not judging. I was worried.” Clay brushed vagrant strands of his now much longer hair out of his face.

The last time you had seen him, about two…maybe three years ago, his hair had hardly reached over his earlobes and now the curled-up ends cascaded over his skinny collarbones.

“Oh, I get it, Clay, okay. So you are allowed to be worried but I wasn’t, huh? Wasn’t allowed to maybe point out that a needle in your arm for breakfast is too far off, even for us, no, yeah fuck you!” Rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him, you got your buzzing body off the bed to waddle into the kitchen to grab yourself one of the cans of fizzy diet Coke you craved so much right now.

“I’ve gotten myself out of that if you do so much as care about it.” Clay called after you, trying to not set even more fire to the whole situation.

“ ‘S that all you have to say about that? Fucking hypocrite.” Metallic creaking and the sound of soda bubbling in an aluminum can followed right after, the noises not able to drown out the breaking and cracking inside of you in the slightest.

You hated talking down to him like that but your hurt ego and damaged pride just couldn’t handle it any differently right now, the pain of forcefully having to split ways with Clay was still much too prominent in your memory. You went to detox and he drowned himself out in the endless shadows of whatever shady alleyway or shooting gallery out there. For quite a while before his slip-ups eventually, had you questioning everything enough to get your own ass into rehab, you had watched him getting worse with every passing week. You most certainly weren’t a saint yourself, no, but you still knew how you had begged him to go to rehab with you, to get the help the both of you needed desperately at that point but it hadn’t been to any avail. Stubborn and head-strong Clay Roach had made his choice and that one had broken your heart so hard that you’d promised yourself to never ever entertain his company ever again. Nights had been spent with nothing but ugly crying and sobbing about his stupid ass in rehab, you worried sick with the countless what-ifs fuelled by detrimental withdrawal anxiety until you had gradually killed every little bit of sympathy for him inside of you. It had been tedious and endlessly painful work but you had managed it to a point where you felt like you could breathe again without your body longing for him like your lungs did for oxygen.

“This is not me belittling you, okay?”, Clay looked up at you with pleading eyes the second you stepped back out of the kitchen, the can of soda tightly in your grasp, “This is me being a self-righteous bastard that’s too proud to say sorry.”

“That’s more like it.”, You scoffed, brows knit together as your gaze wandered over his torso, “Somehow I don’t trust you, arm’s up.”

For a second, Clay frowned at your demand but acted upon it equally quickly.

“There, no track marks, happy? Haven’t touched that shit in over a year.” He waited for your approval but you didn’t really feel like trusting him still.

“What else are you on? You don’t just run into somebody on the scene because you got lost on the way…” With an almost irritating smile on his face, Clay shrugged his shoulders.

“Funny how we didn’t bump into one another on the scene but at the damned 7/11 down the road at around 3 A.M. I had a few drinks, yeah, and maybe I was a bit starstruck as you squeezed yourself out of the entrance right next to me without even so much as taking notice of me. And maybe, just maybe, I turned on my heels to run after you before you vanished off into the night again.”, With his eyes, Clay pointed down his front, “And about that…I’m on a Methadone prescription that massively fucks with my appetite, thank you for asking.”

“Methadone?” You asked quietly, trying to play right over the part where you felt like breaking down and crawling into his arms that practically called out to you.

“Yeah, I’m slowly getting off of that, too, but I’m not quite there just yet. Maybe 3 to 6 months longer and that’s also a done deal. How about you?” Clay’s eyes darted toward the mess of small brown bottles and confetti of aluminum foil on your nightstand.

“Rare weekend bender. Had a shitty week, y’know.” You answered before taking a swig from the can.

“Uh-huh.”, Clay nodded, “Guilty pleasure, hm?”

“Yeah, something like that.” The heavily carbonated drink bubbled in your stomach, pressing a tiny, choked-back burp out of you.

“Listen…”, Clay sighed and with that, your ears perked up, “ I know, I hurt you…a lot, to say the least, and not a single day went by where I didn’t regret being such a bastard, okay? I know I fucked it up, spectacularly.”

“I appreciate the apology but…” You mumbled reluctantly.

“But, what?” Clay allowed his arms to slump down onto the bed again, his form slowly relaxing.

“But… I don’t know, Clay. To be perfectly real with you here, I’m losing my train of thought right now.” You shrugged your shoulders, taking another mouthful of diet Coke before placing the can on the nightstand.

“It’s okay…maybe come’ere then?” He carefully invited you to ride your growing buzz out right next to him under the soft blankets.

“Uh-huh, yeah…” A soft yawn snaked out of your mouth as the increasing drowsiness washed through your muscles with every beat of your heart.

Exhaling an even longer yawn right after the first, you just gave in to the pull his presence had on you and snuck yourself under your duvet and into his careful embrace. His heartbeat thumbing in a slow and steady pace against your ear pulled all of your focus towards him and the comfortably warm rush spreading from your stomach throughout the rest of your body. Feeling his skin against your cheek took you right back to those times when something along the lines of this used to be the regular weekend activity but then quickly morphed into something more dangerous than just a weekend trip of numbed-out euphoria. You tried not to think about it but the memories plopped up inside your mind all by themselves, making you physically cringe.

"What's that now?" Clay murmured to you, his voice soft and breathing calm.

"It's…memories." You sighed, trying to relax and to simply let go of them.

"That's okay. Remind yourself that they can't hurt you, those times are over, I promise." You struggled a little with following his words as your brain started to come up with more or less random thoughts.

"Why…why didn't you just let me be last night? What gave you the audacity to sneak yourself back into not only my life but…but also my apartment, huh?" The words slipped from your tongue, halfway muzzled by his chest.

"I dunno.", It sounded like he almost laughed it out gently, "Maybe it was really just audacity and the stubborn hopes of an idiot like me."

"Hmhmm…" You mumbled away, eyes fluttering shut as you felt yourself gradually drifting into sensory oblivion, a far-off place where nothing really bothered you anymore.

With a barely even there grin, you had to admit to yourself that Clay's chest was a much more comfortable thing to fall into than just your pillow as the buzz eventually took over. Your mind and muscle memory went straight back to feeling safe with him, taken care of and protected because even though back then it had been the two of you knocked out of your socks, Clay had never failed to cradle you in his arms and keep you sheltered from everything and anything.

After your eyes had fallen shut and your pulse calmed down to a low beat, you lost track of just how long you had dozed off. It could've been just a few hours or half a day, regardless, it was dark outside and a nice, crisp breeze went through the halfway-open window of your bedroom. Now that the tiring numbness slowly wore off, a pampering flush of warm euphoria followed, the kind of feeling that encouraged you to prolong it by having a couple of drinks or tempted you to get teasingly touchy with either yourself or whoever was with you. An arguably treacherous slippery slope having Clay, whose fingers were busy playing through your hair, right next to you.

“What time is it?” You sighed, shamelessly nuzzling your face further into his shoulder until the tip of your nose stroked against his neck, inhaling his scent and allowing it to fill up your nostrils.

“Hey there, sunshine.”, He yawned in return, the smile on his face audible, “About half past 8. How are you feeling, hm?”

“Surprisingly rested…” You replied, your voice still a little drowsy whilst your lips were eagerly creeping up to brush over his pulse point, the faint taste of salty sweat seeping into your mouth upon contact.

“Oh…I wouldn’t mind you doing that again…” Clay breathed against the crown of your head, picking right up on your nonverbal invitation whilst his hand roamed underneath the blanket, searching for yours.

“You mean that?” You led your lips to plant a kiss on his neck, sucking the sensitive skin between your teeth to leave a small hickey.

“Uh-huh…”, It rolled over his tongue as his lean fingers closed down around your wrist to pull your hand up to his exposed throat, silently proposing to you to press your palm around it, “Wouldn’t mind you being a little mean to me either. I do believe I deserve that, no?”

“Bold of you to assume what you deserve in the first place.” You teasingly sneered back, hand carefully yet firmly closing down around his throat whilst your lips latched onto his earlobe.

Clay had played it smart and that drew a sly smile from you. Line, hook and sinker.

“I thought, I-” The imminent wash of pain emitting from his earlobe as you bit down on it had him gagging on his words.

“Yet another mistake.”, You hummed against the shell of his ear, clicking your tongue tauntingly after letting the warm flesh between your teeth scrape out of your mouth.

“What do you want me to do then?” Clay croaked, his voice gradually cut off by your carefully tightening grasp around his throat.

“Much better.”, You cooed in return whilst the buzzing warmth from your stomach gradually shot down amidst your thighs in increasingly needy jolts, “I want you to take your shorts off and then you shut the fuck up, got that?”

He nodded vigorously, his chin nearly meeting the back of your hand as you felt his Adam’s apple bobbing against your palm. Just like you told him to, Clay shimmied out of his shorts whilst your free hand was busy pulling your own panties down until you were able to smoothly slip out of them.

For a split second, your thoughts halted, the flood of countless, well-familiar memories rushing through overworked synapses leading you to question if this whole endeavor was the right road to take right now before the excitement and your own physical need to feel him took over again. Forcing any doubt into the nothingness at the very back of your mind, you threw your right leg over his hips to straddle his lap, Clay’s already eager hard-on pressing against your soaked cunt.

“Fuck..” He gasped out, his eyes beaming at you through a half-lidded gaze.

As soon as you let your crotch slide down a little, allowing his pulsing cock to push into you at once, you served his cheek a hefty slap.

“I told you to shut the fuck up, didn’t I?” Clay’s head lolled to the side upon impact, a deep grunt rippling through his chest as he nodded again.

“Not a single whine…” You stated, starting to rock your hips against his.

You barely allowed your own body to adjust to his full girth, resulting in a comfortably painful stretch to accommodate his size. For a blissful moment, your pulse throbbed through your walls as the tip of his cock thrusted against that particularly sensitive spot inside of you, sending pleasure buzzing like an electric current through your muscles.

With every sensation amplified by the cocktail of substances flooding your bloodstream, you released Clay’s throat from your grip, a single shred of reason reminding you not to choke him out in an unfortunate accident. Instead, both of your hands clawed down on his chest, nails digging into his pale skin, drilling until you left an array of angry, red streaks that made him twist and twitch under your fingertips as not one singular noise left his trembling lips.

“Look at you, hedonistic traitor, finally understanding the assignment, nuh?” It was undeniable that your words cut deep but in that very instance, you wanted them to, needed Clay to suffer just as much as you did and in the way his eyes got glossed over with a tell-tale watery sheen you know he did.

“Oh, you know you don’t deserve any of that right now, don’t you? Don’t deserve to be balls deep inside of me, no.” You pushed it further, borderline hurting yourself by spewing those vile words right at him, the malevolence oozing right out of every single one.

To somehow, haphazardly counteract the emotional dread, you picked up the pace, pounding his back into the mattress underneath over and over, repeatedly sending shots of physical pleasure through the both of you.

“Good god, fuck…” It left your mouth in a shaky moan, your body most certainly not used to so many bodily sensations since you very much opted right out of any sort of long-term dating after having to split from Clay.

The vast majority of orgasms that had rippled through you since then were your own doings and none of them could just barely reach the state of growing bliss you found yourself in right now. If it hadn’t been for your own needy desperation, you’d dragged it out longer, toyed with him a little more but as of now you just couldn’t be bothered with any of that. Rocking your waist against his lap again and again, you felt the rapidly tightening coil in your lower abdomen growing ready to snap, your walls clenching down around his cock and pulling him in impossibly deep with every further thrust.

The very thing that eventually pushed you right past your threshold was the dire expression on his face. Clay was biting down on his bottom lip so hard to remain silent that his teeth nearly dug deep enough to draw blood.

“Issok…” You huffed out, your own breath nearly getting stuck in your throat as you felt the first contractions rendering you cockdrunk, waves of trashing release washing through you like an uncontrollable tide.

With your permission given, Clay whined out in pleasure himself, his head pushing back into the pillow as he shoved himself into you as deep as possible, spilling his pent-up seed in heavy pumps.

“Fuck!” He cussed out, his hands reaching towards your waist to hold you right in place as his cock throbbed and twitched inside of you, shooting ropes of his release into your oozing cunt.

You felt the warmth of his cum pushing past, trickling out of you to pool between your slightly shaking, sweat-soaked thighs. Minutes appeared to pass in silence until both of you slowly came back from your orgasmic highs, breaths trying to be caught again.

“How do you feel about grabbing a drink?” Out of all things it was that what splattered out of your mouth.

“Sure as fuck wouldn’t say no to that…” Clay laughed back from underneath you.

#tam rambles #asks are appreciated #asks are always open #rory culkin #clay roach #city on a hill #clay roach smut #clay roach × you #clay roach x reader #clay roach x fem!reader #dead dove do not eat

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moomeecore · 5 months

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hate post for this post. this is not a dank meme. i shrinking myself soso small and i am kissing every mosquito gently and tenderly on the forehead. send the billionaires to space instead.

#should i censor the url? i dont think so bc im just being silly #also bc i feel like this accnt probbaly is like a content farmy thing #this made me want to draw some mosquito appreciation art #oh mosquitoes. oh houseflies. oh roaches. oh silverfish #you are all my dearest companions and i wish you the best #I LOVE PESTS AND VARMINTS AND WEEDS <3

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shivroy · 1 year

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OFMD animals!! the list is under the cut :D

the swede: swedish moose wee john: yellow-crested cockatoo buttons: seagull roach: ring-tailed lemur black pete: possum jim: capybara oluwande: otter lucius: rabbit edward: meow meow stede: dove frenchie: mouse izzy: con o'neill's dog

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fixfoxnox · 1 year

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With every "Roach is ghosts dead fiance 🥺" or "Roach sent soap for ghost 🥺" I grow stronger. And one day, I will have enough strength to write a purely vindictive fic where SOAP is ghosts dead ex fiance and ghost falls in love with ROACH.

I'm gonna pull a switcheroo on them

Anyways GhostRoachSoap for the win

#listen i'm totally chill with SoapGhost #I myself do enjoy SoapGhost #however i will never enjoy it at the expense of Roach #like genuinely it breaks my fuckin' heart #which coincidentally is why I had to write SiTO #so I could fix things and let Roach get his happy ending #gary roach sanderson #ghost x roach #ghost x soap #also this is definitely a joke I would just appreciate it if people who write those fics would tag them with Past ghost/roach #or #not even tag ghost/roach at all

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saltymongoose · 11 months

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hai salty ^-^!!!! i’ve been thinking about your mw2 hcs recently and decided to draw something for you :3 i did most of 141 + roach and könig, which got me thinking. some of the people who played mw2 did NOT play it for the plot. they played it for the men. what if the player was one of them? cause i’ll be the first to admit these men do not deserve to be as fine as they are. you don’t have to respond to my question if you don’t want to. more art is probably on the way. ty for being who you are <3!!!!!!!

Omg, I hadn't even considered factoring König and Roach into this, these are just fantastic. :D I really love how you characterized everyone in this, the jealousy that the boys show is almost palpable lmao. It seems the only one who isn't a new target of theirs is Roach, at least before he steals your attention from them too.

As for the men of MW2 themselves, yes, I completely agree; I'd say a good portion of us only gained interest in the game because of them. (I mean it's COD, it's not like the plot is very relevant most of the time anyway, right?)

Although, if the Player also had this same attitude, they'd probably be very flustered just by being around the 141 (+ König), which already kickstarts their other vessels' jealousy. It also doesn't help that the 141's group can fulfill the same "roles" that the grunts can; if you want a highly dangerous killer to protect you, Ghost can do it just as well as Hank. If you like funny guys, Soap has that covered, or if you prefer the more commanding, analytical leader types, Price fits into that niche, and so on. Just from their positions and reputations alone, they're threats to the grunts, but this is made a hundred times worse if you're actually attracted to them as well.

(You never seem to blush or swoon around the four mercs nearly as much. None of them were particularly jealous people, but that seemed to be thrown away the moment they saw just how close you were getting to these new vessels, and far, far too quickly than they ever anticipated.)

The four grunts already have huge issues with having each other to compete with, so having an additional group of individuals to deal with is just adding to that. The fact that you obviously like them so much is actually even more difficult for them to process because of the one thing the MW2 guys have an edge over them with: they're human. How can grunts, arguable beasts compared to your kind, compete with one of your species for your affection, let alone an entire task force of them?

#everyone gaze upon this immediately #we love Roach in this household #ask #chat tag #other's art #fav #nevadancitizen #more hcs coming tomorrow 😉#tw: yandere #madcom x reader #samau #also thank you for the compliment #it's very appreciated :') <3333

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gxlden-angels · 1 year

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Controversial take but I'm much more comforted by the idea of a deity that makes mistakes and admits it than one that insists they're perfect and punishes anyone who says otherwise by sending them to be tortured

#I'm having Thoughts #I got a new tattoo #it's based on Tomcat Disposables by Will Wood #because that song makes me think of being a mouse #and the morality we hold mice/rats to as a concept despite them just wanting to survive like us #I say all this as a proud Appreciator of Rats #love those lil beast #a person with rats (not as pets) is seen as an unclean. lazy. morally bankrupt person rather than a person who just so happened to have rats #my highschool had mice and/or rats #I've lived with roaches before #am I morally unclean because of that?#Am I any better than a mouse in hole? Is my government-paid shitty student apartment morally better?#Does each rat represent a new sin I commuted?#Am I tormented by pests by being one myself?#Is it the mouse's fault it carries certain diseases?#Is it the person's fault that they carry sin?#It's just nature I guess #ex christian #religious trauma

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sunnibits · 2 years

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modern AU polycule beach vacation

#I don’t think I rlly appreciated this image enough when I first saw it but I sure am appreciating it now #it’s the way con still has his izzy tattoo applied for me…#the sunglasses. everyone’s expressions. con being tiny. what a vibe #ivan #fang #izzy hands #roach #ofmd #just tagging so I don’t lose it

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dragonnarrative-writes · 9 hours

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GhostGaz Week - 2nd chances // road trip

This one is more of a dialogue based character study than anything else, I think. I felt unhinged writing it even though very little happens.

@ghostgazweek

CW: use of cigarettes, littering, discussions of gender and sexuality, past dating experiences, brief reference to simon riley's terrible awful service experiences

Gaz doesn’t hate land transport, but he’d much rather be on a helicopter than in this silent car with Ghost right now. He’s viciously bored. If it was Price, he’d know how to carry a conversation. But fresh off his third milk run with Ghost, he’s floundering. He checks the clock and groans. There’s another hour before they hit the tarmac and head home.

Desperation for something to talk about makes him blurt, “You ever been in love?”

Ghost doesn’t give much indication that he’s heard, eyes never leaving the road, hand relaxed on the top of the steering wheel. Sometimes Gaz wishes he was a photographer. The Ghost in the driver’s seat would make a great campaign poster. He’s bulky with all his gear. Solid. The picture of a man. This is the guy protecting the innocent by risking himself. A skull faced badass.

“Take the wheel,” Ghost says.

Used to the routine by now, Gaz leans over the arm rest to hold the car steady while Ghost pulls pulls a cigarette from a pack and lights it. But where he usually only lifts his balaclava over the bridge of his nose, he reaches up to take the whole thing off. It’s the work of a moment for him to light the cigarette and open the window. Gaz finds himself looking between the empty road and Ghost’s scarred jaw and the shape of his nose.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Gaz says, settling back into his seat. He tries not to stare, but it’s hard. Without the mask, Ghost is still the picture of a man. Just... different.

“Why’d you ask?”

“Huh?”

Ghost tilts his head to make brief eye contact, then looks back at the road. “Why’d you ask if I’ve ever been in love?”

Oh. “Just… curious, I guess,” Gaz flounders. “I feel like we should know each other better by now.”

The silence is near painful as Ghost takes a drag from his cigarette, and then another. Gaz can’t decide what’s worse - if he’s being ignored or if Ghost is actively offended. He’s about to apologize when he gets an answer.

“Been in love a few times. Puppy love 'fore I joined up, told myself I woulda proposed to ‘er if things were different, but probably not. Was all over the place.” He takes another drag, exhales as he talks. “Had a crush on another private in basic, gave it a go when we graduated. Dated in secret for about a year before I broke things off. Hurt a bit but tha’s a part of it all, yeah?”

“Why’d you break up?”

“Didn’t like being his secret,” Ghost says around another puff of smoke. “He didn’t like my daddy issues.”

Gaz feels his eyebrows crawl up beneath is cap. “Didn’t know you liked men.”

That makes Ghost - Simon? - laugh. “Yeah, well, now we know each other better, I guess.”

Gaz's ears burn a bit. Into the silence, he offers, “Me too. I mean… I’m… not strictly heterosexual…?”

“You askin’ me?” the man snorts a laugh. “’ve seen your beauty serums, Gaz. I know you ain’t straight. Best egg in the carton.”

Gaz scrunches his nose, he can't help it. “What does that even mean?”

Ghost grins that grin. The one that makes Price shoot his whiskey. “You ever have dreams where you’re a girl?”

“What?” Gaz blanches. Five years ago, he’d have answered, doesn’t everybody? But he’s learned his lesson since then. “No.”

Ghost’s grin doesn’t falter. “I do.”

“Bullshit,” Gaz says, because what? What even is this conversation?

“Third love of my life made me go to therapy,” Ghost continues, like he didn’t just rock Gaz’s world on its axis. “Learned a lot. Admittedly before the Ghost thing. Broke up because the therapy was working. And then all the Ghost shit happened.”

“Of course.” What else is there to say?

“Flirted with someone a couple times in the last six months, but either I’ve been too subtle or they’re not interested.”

Gaz gropes around for an appropriate response because I've only ever seen you stare silently at people feels a bit rude. “Maybe it’s the mask? You’re hard to read.”

“Maybe so,” is the answer he gets. “What about you? Ever been in love, Garrick?”

The question shouldn’t startle him, but it does. He stumbles over his answer. “I dunno. Maybe. Had crushes when I was kid. Dated in sixth form, but I don’t know if that counts.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I was a kid, yeah? Everything feels intense when you’re young,” Gaz shrugs. “Doesn’t mean it’s love.”

Ghost is quiet for a moment, nodding to himself. Finally he says, “M’ therapist says that just because it’s a kid that feels it don't make the feelings less valid. If anything, feelings are more intense for kids. Puppy love is still love.”

The realization that Ghost is a romantic snaps into place. He sits with that for a beat before saying, “Well, she cheated on me with my mate, so that ended. Took a long time for me to get over that one.”

“That’s shite,” Ghost mumbles. “You datin’ now?”

“Not much time for a civilian relationship,” Gaz admits with a shrug. “And I’m not… out on base. I’m not not, just… I don’t really care to have people in my business.”

“Fair,” Ghost answers. He flicks his cigarette out the window. “Well, if you ever do think about dating on base, keep me in mind.”

Gaz might pull something in his neck, he snaps to look at Ghost so fast. “Huh?”

Ghost just laughs.

#GhostGazWeek #dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #gaz appreciation nation #manic pixie dream ghost #ghostgaz #none of these stories this week have been linked to each other #i just headcannon simon and kyle as queer in so many ways #and simon has the tism rizz that means intentional flirting is very difficult for him #he's been flirting with kyle since they met #except the “flirting” is standing in the same room no talking no eye contact just vibes #“hold the wheel while i grab a smoke” is practically a proposition to him #he took off his mask because in his head they're already in a polycule with price and roach #obviously being in a polycule and “dating” are not the same in his head but they're related #price does not know about this polycule yet but he will #roach was the one who defined the terms queerplatonic and polycule to simon #obviously simon would like for things to be less platonic

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