life. death. yours. mine.

#lmao i literally cannot follow too many people or i'll get marked as spam so #like at once #so

moved

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pseudolife-archived2

[ PSEUDOLIFE ] an independent and selective multimuse featuring a variety of muses, most of which are original but fandom based. do not follow if you are underage, or uncomfortable with mature topics. graphics template

written by anarchy (she/her, 30+). heavily affiliated with @pseudodead

#i have MOVED

pseudolife-archived2

written by anarchy (she/her, 30+). heavily affiliated with @pseudodead

#mun » s.p.#THERE WAS A TYPO #i am still struggling with the beta editor ok

moved

#mun » ooc #got impatient

I... am remaking, which means I will be moving to a new blog and using the beta editor. I hope everyone will still love me bc lmao it's time

#mun » ooc

JOLTING. panic raking its claws down his spine as shoulders tensed and arms flew up in half part defense, half part surrender. blinking dumb at the sudden loss of fingers in his mouth and wondering what he'd done wrong to make them loose the plot ( he'd not heard a thing - no imminent threat incoming ) when - oh. body melting back into the sheets with a sigh. brows knit well before the glare hit him. lip quirking. he must've been flexing the look a lot between Trick and König's shenanigans - it was near threatening enough even a ghost might shudder — .

he wouldn't say a word though. whistle - ? absolutely. technically, not a word.

black &&. blues washing over Gary's form like it was the first time. gaze soft and lips curled into a boyish smile. taking in every inch of scarred // bruised muscle before falling to his dick. rocketing heat down his core and southbound. own cock twitching in the confines of his sweats and beginning to smearing an undignified stain into them already. nearly laughing when he couldn't remember the last time Roach had looked so eager.

cherishing the parting kiss before stilling. patiently waiting for the other to get comfortable atop him [ ... ] before blinking up, pleased as punch. nearly melting as a hand ran through his hair. tangling up in slightly outgrown locks before his attention was forced elsewhere. lips ever so subtly parting as he canted his head upwards, welcoming the weeping cock rolling against them. unwilling and unable, in equal measure, to bite back a heady moan. giving the tip a kittenish lick before blinking upwards from beneath dark lashes. ah - fuck . . . hips shifting, nearly squirming, at the sight. a goddamn king among men.

"I'm gonna be good for ya'. promise." tongue smoothing along his lips. reveling in the lingering taste. hands smoothing along the bare of Gary's back in muted encouragement. "you'll lemme swallow every last drop, won'tcha, bug - ?" and, with that, he'd not bother to wait for an answer. instead, helping himself with tight lips, an eager tongue, and hallowing cheeks.

The whistle does not melt the look off Roach's face as much as it wipes it clean. Glare disappearing and replaced soon-after with a look that's akin to dumbfounded. Cheeks and ears flushing red-red with a renewed blush as his brow furrows, as his lips twist and part and turn almost into a pout. Everything about him sharing his embarrassment at his behavior - at his clumsy attempts and eagerness to get his dick in the other man's mouth.

It's a new feeling for him in the moment - the enthusiasm, the rush of emotions that flood him when he realizes what Soap wants them to do. The act of being in control as new to him as the position, as the partner, and yet no less discomforting. Like it had been with Ghost, who had admittedly called all the shots every time they'd gotten intimate, it's easy to fall into rhythm with Soap. Easy to give in to him and fall into actions that were as emotion-driven as they were instinctual.

As easy as it had been to fall in love with them both without realizing it.

And Gary Sanderson has never really had a thing for audio as much as he has visual in the past, but the combination of the sight of Johnny's lips against his cock? The heady moan at just the touch? The taste? Roach nearly keels over right then and there. Heart pounding in his ears as his hand finds the wall with unfortunate force and accuracy - the noise overpowering the gasping whimper he'd emitted at just the lick alone, at just the fucking look that he was being given.

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish is a beautiful man. Pretty eyes and tanned skin. An overgrown mohawk, and stubble that was probably going to leave burns on his skin. He was cocky, and smug, and absolutely a fucking problem for Roach's newly awakened libido - and he's in-fucking-sufferable when he gets going. Teasing promises and actions. Worn hands against a scarred back and - and -

Gary groans, as loud as he can. A rumbly, rough noise that sounds like it's been torn from him. This man was going to be the death of him. Ghost was going to come back any day now, and find Roach dead in their bed. Soul sucked right the fuck out of him by his fellow sergeant.

His jaw snaps shut with something audible as he inhales through his nose, fingers flexing in dark hair as he tries - and succeeds - in controlling that immediate instinct to just - sink into him. To thrust into that warm and wet heat and find a rhythm that would find him release. Hips trembling with the effort as his eyes flutter shut, and he forces himself to sit still, just for the moment, just for a second -

The first thrust, the first roll of his hips, is hesitant and testing. Dark eyes peeking open to check that it was okay - that Soap was okay. And when he's sure of that? Does the slow and steady roll of his hips become a little more firm, consistent. Considerate even as he drives his hips, his cock, further into that perfect, but insufferably smug mouth.

he'd not take it personally. too preoccupied smiling, self-satisfied, as he watched Roach begin to unravel already. red's a good color on you. tease, to Gary's good fortune, lost as mouth grew fuller.

eyes half lidded, yet laser focused. pupils blown ; blinking back more black than blue. delighted by the way calloused fingers toyed with his tongue. welcoming the intrusions &&. taking them in stride. a guiding tug of the other's wrist - pushing both fingers deeper still - until lips collided with knuckles. humming something needy around them. wanting. retreating, only to give his tongue better leeway to curl about them both and swallow around them in thinly veiled invitation.

heart answering the press of the other's palm with a flutter. luring a faint shade of red to John's ears in response to the silent call out. heart aflutter &&. cock aching from how badly he wanted this [ ... ] wanted him. wanted to lift the weight from his shoulders &&. strip the tension from every wound, new and old alike. wanted to chase Gary's pleasure and push him over the edge until it was all he could think of, all he could remember.

eyes lidding closed as Roach's hips set a slow and steady pace. groaning around calloused digits. a picture perfect illusion of SUBMISSION guising his growing grip upon the reigns — . let me take care of you. glazed eyes blinking open. hands loosing their hold to return to Roach's hips. slipping 'round to playfully pat his ass before hooking his thumbs into the waistband once again before giving a prompt tug. let me take all of you.

Gary Sanderson isn't a slow man, not by any means. He's methodical, sure, and patient, but he's not slow. He likes to analyze things and situations, people, before making his move - thought before action always. It's saved his life many times before, would probably continue to do so in the future. But this is - unfortunately, this is one of those rare moments where he is slow to the point. Too busy biting his tongue and swallowing back half-made noises as Soap proves that his mouth is made for more than just talking. Swallowing back an abundance of saliva as he listens to the other man hum something needy, and swallows around him in - in -

It's a fucking invitation, that thought, that realization comes clear. Loud. Ringing in his ears as his blood struggles to find a direction to flow in, as his dick twitches and his torso shudders in obvious interest. Eyes shining something dark, but pretty and wet, as they drop to watch the other man's mouth with interest. Breath coming quick out of barely parted lips. Heat swallowing him whole - like Johnny's groaning, noisy mouth around his fingers. The pat, playful and joking, earns the other man a look. Lustful and warm, fond and warning. Teasing, as thumbs find the elastic band on his waist and tug.

It's then, and only then, that Roach comes more to his senses. Realizing, with a quick heavy breath, that Soap has put him in charge of the encounter. That unlike every encounter he's had with a man before (read: everything he's done with Ghost) all the strings are his to pull this time. Soap is waiting, pliant and patient, for him to make the moves and he - he -

Gary yanks his hand from Soap's mouth so suddenly, it makes a noise. Cheeks burning as he forgoes wiping his hand in favor of stripping himself down. Fisting the back of his shirt and pulling it over his head - tossing it away - before shifting his weight awkwardly up to his knees. Wiggling like the clumsy idiot he felt like he was as he pulls his briefs down his thighs. Elastic band stretching, pressing uncomfortably against his skin as he nearly loses the fucking fight to it in all his wiggling. A huff of laughter escaping him as he finally frees himself and shoots Soap a look that's almost shy, but also almost a fucking threat.

Don't say a word. He doesn't mouth the words, doesn't sign them either, but there's something about the way he looks at Johnny that suggests that yeah, he'd turn this into a playful brawl real fucking quick over that. Feeling vulnerable enough with all his nudity, thighs spread about the other man and dick hard presenting, pink tipped and throbbing.

And then? He seems to remember himself. Them. Soap's unspoken invitation. The way his mouth had felt around his fingers and - he moves. Crawling carefully up the other man's body. Brushing their mouths together one last time in something sweet before sliding up to sit on his chest. Practically straddling the other man's head as he reaches for his endearingly stupid mohawk with one hand. Grabs at himself with the other and smears the tip of his dick against the other man's mouth with a quiet, but not silent, groan.

punch drunk and still drinking deep. chest rising and falling heavy already. looking damn well STARSTRUCK as hands splayed out upon his chest &&. quiet noises met his ears like a siren song. cock at attention as it pressed into the seam of Roach's ass. meager briefs and sweats leaving little to the imagination.

I love you, Sanderson. no shame to be had in thinking it. having known it well before the fuckin' ridiculous idea of asking both Ghost and Roach out had ever struck him. but, he'd be a liar if hearing Roach vocalize little things because of him? see him painted in pretty shades of pink atop him? wasn't a damn good reminder.

hips steadying before slowing to a reluctant stop. one hand entangling with the hem of the other's shirt in his own silent request whilst the other rose to capture one of Roach's wrists. guiding his hand ( his voice : their link ) up to smirking lips. encouraging acts of exploration with a small kiss to the tip of one finger. bright eyes flitting from scarred hand upwards to dark eyes. obliging the unspoken request. "let me take care of you." before enveloping one of his fingers into the warmth of his maw — .

The request, silent but probably not at all disguised, is missed. Missed because Soap has got his fingers, because Soap is smirking like he's won the goddamn lottery, and pulling Roach's hand to his mouth like he's got a plan. A plan that, at first, seems innocent. Innocuous. Sweet. A press of his lips against a fingertip so calloused, it almost doesn't feel it. A gesture so - so unlike a soldier that it makes Roach gape. Has bitten and chapped lips parting in surprise as a translation is provided, as his fingertips brush against the other man's lips before - before -

Soap is a bastard. Gary Sanderson doesn't know how he forgot that. The wet heat of the other man's mouth shocking him still, causing that heat that had been steadily burning to flash fire thorough the system. Roach burns. From the top of his head, to the tips of his toes. Ears and face red as red can be as he gasps and sputters, as his pupils blow wide and swallow the brown of his eyes. Tense and shoulders brushing the lobes of his ears as he tries to breathe - and ends up choking.

And not for the first time in his life, Roach wishes he was capable of speech. A thought, a wish, that is thankfully fleeting. Lost as his brain kickstarts back to life and he hesitantly presses his finger in deeper, farther into the wet heat of the other man's mouth. Rubbing, rolling his finger against his tongue in an action that has him whining instead. Something soft and low, rough sounding and deep. His other hand slowly uncurling so that he can press his palm and fingertips solidly to Soap's bare chest - so that he can feel the other man's heartbeat as his own stutters and leaps. Hips rolling, more confidently now. Eyes narrowing in something playful as he slides a second finger into that tempting maw - letting Soap do as he wanted. Letting him take care of him.

rough hands stop when Roach wills them to. blinking up at him curiously, uncertain as to the sudden mood shift before recognizing it for what it was [ ... ] and smiling ear to ear. face lighting up as he charted the sudden swell of rose red to his cheeks and ears. finding EMBARRASSMENT to be a good look for Roach.

expression shifting. attentive, like a dog who'd been shown a bone. held overhead on the requirement of GOOD BEHAVIOR. one which, he promptly failed. solemn expression cracking at the seams as he bit back a bout of laughter. biting his tongue as the corners of his eyes crinkled with a smile [ ... ] all, at least, until Roach found his footing - . inhale sharp, whipping his head back as hips bucked up to meet the slow grind. exhale low, slow, &&. accent thick. "what can I say?" smirking something downright devious. "you've got nice arse." emphasizing his point by using his lingering grip as leverage. uno-reversing the dirty play. cock twitching. hips rolling — .

"so, whaddya say I make up for it, ah?" thumbs smoothing experimental circles about his hips. mesmerized by the way his tongue rolled across his lips. "leig dhomh an aire a thoirt dhut."

They're going to be the death of him - Ghost and Soap, Simon and Johnny. His boyfriends. The two of them seemingly specifically engineered to get under his skin in the only ways that mattered. Ghost, with his need to have Roach not only at his mercy, but without restraint - his need to have Roach and all of Roach, nothing held back. And Soap with his teasing, his boyish charm and bright eyes. His wandering touches and frequent kisses - all that affection that hit him so hard, with so much heat, that he was melting every time. The combination of them is going to kill him one day -

It's probably a better death than he deserves. One that he's not going to protest, even as he protests Soap's compliment. Mouth opening like he's going to speak, hands raising and then - promptly pressing back down as he's ground against. Palms pressing to the other man's chest as he gasps out his surprise and then whines out a barely heard protest. Flush darkening as he curls his hands into fists and breathes out something heavy and surprised.

He's hard already, in his little nondescript black boxer briefs. Cheeks flushed red and hot. Curls mused up and flopping messily as he finds the willpower to shake his head, not in protest of the question - words that fan the fire in his core, have him pressing down against the dirty play, the rolling of the other man's hips - but the switch in language. Eyes narrowing as if to say what he was thinking - English, Johnny.

it'd been a risk. asking to join them. his legacy of being the FNG apparently carrying on even into his interpersonal relationships ( albeit, he didn't remember feeling this fuckin' jitty since first teaming up with Price ).

and, hey, strike him down if he was feeling a bit too OPTIMISTIC, but [ ... ] things were good. easy not quite the word he'd assign much with the trios names on it, but good was all he could ask for this early on. ready and eager to be the BALANCING POINT between them &&. their needs // wants. giving a wide berth to Ghost and Roach's founding dynamic all the while modifying his own routines to fit the two in all nice and neat. careful to not toe beyond the line of professionalism while on the field — especially with Ghost — but taking to hitting that on // off switch between the two with an ease that was damn near uncanny.

as with most risks the Sergeant took — ? he found the reward well worth it.

Roach's hunger unexpected, especially considering the hour, but more than welcome. always welcome. even if Soap was still blinking sleep from his eyes. quick to smile into the slew of kisses. inhaling the other's scent and exhaling breathy LAUGHTER. offering no fight as he was rolled to his back and mounted. hands catching on the other's knees and slowly working their way up along muscled thighs. "someone woke up hungry, aye?" eyes half lidded, stars in his eyes, as hands slipped beneath the hem of his shirt. palms pressing flush to hips whilst pinkies teased about the waistband of his briefs.

Hungry. Yeah, sure, Roach was hungry - or at least he had been. Ghost away on mission, and Soap just - there like that all the time. All casual intimacy and warm touches, hands that made him want to melt into a pile of goo, sweatpants doing nothing for his imagination. He'd woken up, tired and overheated, and with enough morning wood to make him feel like a fucking teenager again - and again, Soap laying there like that hadn't helped. The smile on his lips, and that boyish charm of his doing nothing to help Roach's already confused libido.

Now, however, he's embarrassed at the callout. Cheeks and ears burning as he breaks away from the other's kisses and huffs out his protest. Scarred fingers reaching down to press against the hands on his hips - not removing them, but not letting them move any farther either. Not letting his pinkies move farther along curiously sensitive skin.

Roach stares at him, deadpan and flushed red. Tongue rolling out along his bottom lip before he raises his hands to sign - carefully and slowly. 'Up until ten minutes ago, your dick was rubbing on my crack.' He rolls his hips carefully, in a move that's a little clumsy, but calculated. 'And you're cute in the morning.'

#mun » ooc #i'd be on beta editor... hm

if i remake, will yall hate me

Soap was... Soap was...

Soap was a fucking disaster for Gary Sanderson's mental state. The exact opposite of Ghost's quiet, his affection not quite as niche, not quite as preciously guarded, Soap gave it all to the both of them whenever he saw them - especially Roach. He wasn't just the first to laugh, but the first to touch too, the first to give words to his feelings, the first to expression his affection in ways that made it seem - easy. He fell easily into the dynamic that Roach and Ghost had already built, carved himself a little nook in the midst of it without ruining any flow - and it was good with him. It came easy.

But it also came with consequences Roach hadn't been accounting for - quickly, too. A sudden appreciation for the man hitting him like a flashbang to the face, leaving him just about as disoriented. Heart fluttering in his chest with every brush of a shoulder against his, a bump of a hip, the brush of knuckles. Little things already making his heart go wild - and when it came to the bigger things? Things like Soap in his pair of grey sweats, stretched out on his bed? Sleepy and warm and fond, and unfairly attractive? Soap leaning in to kiss him good morning, open mouthed?

It's catastrophic - he's catastrophic. And the only thing Roach can do is hang on. Hang on and kiss him back, fingers pressing accidental bruises into his shoulders as he pulls him closer and rolls him over. Finding a perch, easily but awkwardly, on the other man's hips as he leans into instinct instead of lack-of experience and kisses him desperately and intimately. Hungrily.

@ml911 / ROACH for SOAP