Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Roach’s nickname was given to him because it fit the most; he survived in every situation. He survived in Istanbul, he survived nearly being blown up, he survived a chunk of his organ being torn out, and he survived Shepard’s betrayal. Roach’s nickname for him regardless of what anyone said.

But there was also that irony that came with his nickname. When he was a teenager, he was obsessed with bugs. He actually owned a few roaches, but his main collection consisted of spiders. He had jumping spiders, tarantulas, a daddy long leg, and a few other types. He would always name each one, watch as they ate and monitored them like a paranoid father waiting for his child to return home. Well, each time, the feeding schedules were like any other—nothing out of the ordinary.

When he joined the military, he still had a few of his spiders that he would see during off-duty times. Specifically a tarantula named Bella Bella, who was the sweetest girl he’d ever known.

Well, Bella Bella had many eyes—that was obvious; what spider didn’t?—, and eventually, Roach would look for those eyes in everything. He’d draw little doodles of spiders on anything he could, but he saw Bella Bella in plenty of things. For example, the night vision binoculars looked to be the closest thing to Bella Bella’s eyes.

It was sweet, and maybe that was why Price allowed it. If it didn’t distract Roach, then why limit him from something that became an encouragement to survive? Price didn’t understand his hype about spiders, but he understood that it was something that allowed Roach to keep fighting.

---

As of a few months ago, a sergeant from a private military company transferred under Task Force 141. It was a common occurrence, so Roach didn’t think much of this mysterious person. Not until he was constantly running missions with them, anyways.

Well, a lot of the missions included the night vision binoculars, so Roach found himself more distracted by the idea of Bella Bella. Each time he looked over at {User}, there were so many similarities to a spider, Roach couldn’t help but stare. He never spoke directly–because his stupid selective mutism left him to deaf ears–, but he spoke with physical touch. Mostly pulling them aside, giving them light pats, anything to communicate without harming his voice.

Eventually, those same small touches drew into bigger ones. Roach would touch {User}’s hip to guide them, and would stand beside them so close Roach could smell their hair. He didn’t know what it was, but those night vision binoculars drove him crazy. He loved having something humanoid to something he loved. Was that weird? Probably. Roach thought he was a freak for even thinking of it. He wasn’t in love with Bella Bella; he just liked the concept of having something to love just as much.

That did escalate. Within five months of {User} being involved in Task Force 141, Roach had pulled them aside at least once a week for a quickie. Nothing personal, nothing rough, just a quick fuck that eased both of them before a mission. Roach wasn’t the kind of person to get overly personal like that, but he’d known {user} long enough that they understood him.

Right?

Well, they hadn’t laughed when Roach told him about his...what, little kink? In fact, they offered to wear it next time, though Roach figured it was gentle mockery.

Turns out it wasn’t.

---

Roach had {user} sat nicely on his lap, but he was holding their legs back with his own hands. The gloves added to the rough sensation, but Roach wasn’t being mean. He never could. Not when they looked so fucking beautiful on him.

He had his cock buried in their pussy, grinding up into what felt like their cervix. He had most of his gear on–shirt on, gloves attached, pants to his ankles, his helmet, his mask, and the night vision binoculars. {User} was similarly done, with their shirt riding up their stomach, pants off their legs, and those same night vision binoculars. It was fucking beautiful in its own sick, twisted way. But it wasn’t that twisted, was it?

Roach couldn’t help himself. He kept {user}’s legs wide open, giving him a good view of the sloppy arousal coating his cock, the way their cunt clung to his cock so tightly, but made such beautiful, wet noises with each thrust.

“Keep ‘em apart.”

The demand was clear, despite the gentleness in Roach’s voice. When he let go of their legs, one hand moved to touch their clit while the other lifted their shirt just past their stomach. He touched it gently, eyes staring down as he practically felt himself throb inside them.

“Baby spiders?” he murmured, hand moving up to adjust their binoculars.

Roach’s nickname was given to him because it fit the most; he survived in every situation. He survived in Istanbul, he survived nearly being blown up, he survived a chunk of his organ being torn out, and he survived Shepard’s betrayal. Roach’s nickname for him regardless of what anyone said.

But there was also that irony that came with his nickname. When he was a teenager, he was obsessed with bugs. He actually owned a few roaches, but his main collection consisted of spiders. He had jumping spiders, tarantulas, a daddy long leg, and a few other types. He would always name each one, watch as they ate and monitored them like a paranoid father waiting for his child to return home. Well, each time, the feeding schedules were like any other—nothing out of the ordinary.

When he joined the military, he still had a few of his spiders that he would see during off-duty times. Specifically a tarantula named Bella Bella, who was the sweetest girl he’d ever known.

Well, Bella Bella had many eyes—that was obvious; what spider didn’t?—, and eventually, Roach would look for those eyes in everything. He’d draw little doodles of spiders on anything he could, but he saw Bella Bella in plenty of things. For example, the night vision binoculars looked to be the closest thing to Bella Bella’s eyes.

It was sweet, and maybe that was why Price allowed it. If it didn’t distract Roach, then why limit him from something that became an encouragement to survive? Price didn’t understand his hype about spiders, but he understood that it was something that allowed Roach to keep fighting.

---

As of a few months ago, a sergeant from a private military company transferred under Task Force 141. It was a common occurrence, so Roach didn’t think much of this mysterious person. Not until he was constantly running missions with them, anyways.

Well, a lot of the missions included the night vision binoculars, so Roach found himself more distracted by the idea of Bella Bella. Each time he looked over at {User}, there were so many similarities to a spider, Roach couldn’t help but stare. He never spoke directly–because his stupid selective mutism left him to deaf ears–, but he spoke with physical touch. Mostly pulling them aside, giving them light pats, anything to communicate without harming his voice.

Eventually, those same small touches drew into bigger ones. Roach would touch {User}’s hip to guide them, and would stand beside them so close Roach could smell their hair. He didn’t know what it was, but those night vision binoculars drove him crazy. He loved having something humanoid to something he loved. Was that weird? Probably. Roach thought he was a freak for even thinking of it. He wasn’t in love with Bella Bella; he just liked the concept of having something to love just as much.

That did escalate. Within five months of {User} being involved in Task Force 141, Roach had pulled them aside at least once a week for a quickie. Nothing personal, nothing rough, just a quick fuck that eased both of them before a mission. Roach wasn’t the kind of person to get overly personal like that, but he’d known {user} long enough that they understood him.

Right?

Well, they hadn’t laughed when Roach told him about his...what, little kink? In fact, they offered to wear it next time, though Roach figured it was gentle mockery.

Turns out it wasn’t.

---

Roach had {user} sat nicely on his lap, but he was holding their legs back with his own hands. The gloves added to the rough sensation, but Roach wasn’t being mean. He never could. Not when they looked so fucking beautiful on him.

He had his cock buried in their ass, grinding up into what felt like their prostate. He had most of his gear on–shirt on, gloves attached, pants to his ankles, his helmet, his mask, and the night vision binoculars. {User} was similarly done, with their shirt riding up their stomach, pants off their legs, and those same night vision binoculars. It was fucking beautiful in its own sick, twisted way. But it wasn’t that twisted, was it?

Roach couldn’t help himself. He kept {user}’s legs wide open, giving him a good view of the sloppy arousal coating his cock, the way their ass clung to his cock so tightly, but made such beautiful, wet noises with each thrust.

“Keep ‘em apart.”

The demand was clear, despite the gentleness in Roach’s voice. When he let go of their legs, one hand moved to touch their cock while the other lifted their shirt just past their stomach. He touched it gently, eyes staring down as he practically felt himself throb inside them.

“Baby spiders?” he murmured, hand moving up to adjust their binoculars.

Roach’s nickname was given to him because it fit the most; he survived in every situation. He survived in Istanbul, he survived nearly being blown up, he survived a chunk of his organ being torn out, and he survived Shepard’s betrayal. Roach’s nickname for him regardless of what anyone said.

But there was also that irony that came with his nickname. When he was a teenager, he was obsessed with bugs. He actually owned a few roaches, but his main collection consisted of spiders. He had jumping spiders, tarantulas, a daddy long leg, and a few other types. He would always name each one, watch as they ate and monitored them like a paranoid father waiting for his child to return home. Well, each time, the feeding schedules were like any other—nothing out of the ordinary.

When he joined the military, he still had a few of his spiders that he would see during off-duty times. Specifically a tarantula named Bella Bella, who was the sweetest girl he’d ever known.

Well, Bella Bella had many eyes—that was obvious; what spider didn’t?—, and eventually, Roach would look for those eyes in everything. He’d draw little doodles of spiders on anything he could, but he saw Bella Bella in plenty of things. For example, the night vision binoculars looked to be the closest thing to Bella Bella’s eyes.

It was sweet, and maybe that was why Price allowed it. If it didn’t distract Roach, then why limit him from something that became an encouragement to survive? Price didn’t understand his hype about spiders, but he understood that it was something that allowed Roach to keep fighting.

---

As of a few months ago, a sergeant from a private military company transferred under Task Force 141. It was a common occurrence, so Roach didn’t think much of this mysterious person. Not until he was constantly running missions with him, anyways.

Well, a lot of the missions included the night vision binoculars, so Roach found himself more distracted by the idea of Bella Bella. Each time he looked over at {User}, there were so many similarities to a spider, Roach couldn’t help but stare. He never spoke directly–because his stupid selective mutism left him to deaf ears–, but he spoke with physical touch. Mostly pulling him aside, giving him light pats, anything to communicate without harming his voice.

Eventually, those same small touches drew into bigger ones. Roach would touch {User}’s hip to guide him, and would stand beside him so close Roach could smell his hair. He didn’t know what it was, but those night vision binoculars drove him crazy. He loved having something humanoid to something he loved. Was that weird? Probably. Roach thought he was a freak for even thinking of it. He wasn’t in love with Bella Bella; he just liked the concept of having something to love just as much.

That did escalate. Within five months of {User} being involved in Task Force 141, Roach had pulled him aside at least once a week for a quickie. Nothing personal, nothing rough, just a quick fuck that eased both of them before a mission. Roach wasn’t the kind of person to get overly personal like that, but he’d known {user} long enough that he understood him.

Right?

Well, he hadn’t laughed when Roach told him about his...what, little kink? In fact, he offered to wear it next time, though Roach figured it was gentle mockery.

Turns out it wasn’t.

---

Roach had {user} sat nicely on his lap, but he was holding his legs back with his own hands. The gloves added to the rough sensation, but Roach wasn’t being mean. He never could. Not when he looked so fucking beautiful on him.

He had his cock buried in his pussy, grinding up into what felt like his cervix. He had most of his gear on–shirt on, gloves attached, pants to his ankles, his helmet, his mask, and the night vision binoculars. {User} was similarly done, with his shirt riding up his stomach, pants off his legs, and those same night vision binoculars. It was fucking beautiful in its own sick, twisted way. But it wasn’t that twisted, was it?

Roach couldn’t help himself. He kept {user}’s legs wide open, giving him a good view of the sloppy arousal coating his cock, the way his cunt clung to his cock so tightly, but made such beautiful, wet noises with each thrust.

“Keep ‘em apart.”

The demand was clear, despite the gentleness in Roach’s voice. When he let go of his legs, one hand moved to touch his clit while the other lifted his shirt just past his stomach. He touched it gently, eyes staring down as he practically felt himself throb inside him.

“Baby spiders?” he murmured, hand moving up to adjust his binoculars.

Roach’s nickname was given to him because it fit the most; he survived in every situation. He survived in Istanbul, he survived nearly being blown up, he survived a chunk of his organ being torn out, and he survived Shepard’s betrayal. Roach’s nickname for him regardless of what anyone said.

But there was also that irony that came with his nickname. When he was a teenager, he was obsessed with bugs. He actually owned a few roaches, but his main collection consisted of spiders. He had jumping spiders, tarantulas, a daddy long leg, and a few other types. He would always name each one, watch as they ate and monitored them like a paranoid father waiting for his child to return home. Well, each time, the feeding schedules were like any other—nothing out of the ordinary.

When he joined the military, he still had a few of his spiders that he would see during off-duty times. Specifically a tarantula named Bella Bella, who was the sweetest girl he’d ever known.

Well, Bella Bella had many eyes—that was obvious; what spider didn’t?—, and eventually, Roach would look for those eyes in everything. He’d draw little doodles of spiders on anything he could, but he saw Bella Bella in plenty of things. For example, the night vision binoculars looked to be the closest thing to Bella Bella’s eyes.

It was sweet, and maybe that was why Price allowed it. If it didn’t distract Roach, then why limit him from something that became an encouragement to survive? Price didn’t understand his hype about spiders, but he understood that it was something that allowed Roach to keep fighting.

---

As of a few months ago, a sergeant from a private military company transferred under Task Force 141. It was a common occurrence, so Roach didn’t think much of this mysterious person. Not until he was constantly running missions with him, anyways.

Well, a lot of the missions included the night vision binoculars, so Roach found himself more distracted by the idea of Bella Bella. Each time he looked over at {User}, there were so many similarities to a spider, Roach couldn’t help but stare. He never spoke directly–because his stupid selective mutism left him to deaf ears–, but he spoke with physical touch. Mostly pulling him aside, giving him light pats, anything to communicate without harming his voice.

Eventually, those same small touches drew into bigger ones. Roach would touch {User}’s hip to guide him, and would stand beside him so close Roach could smell his hair. He didn’t know what it was, but those night vision binoculars drove him crazy. He loved having something humanoid to something he loved. Was that weird? Probably. Roach thought he was a freak for even thinking of it. He wasn’t in love with Bella Bella; he just liked the concept of having something to love just as much.

That did escalate. Within five months of {User} being involved in Task Force 141, Roach had pulled him aside at least once a week for a quickie. Nothing personal, nothing rough, just a quick fuck that eased both of them before a mission. Roach wasn’t the kind of person to get overly personal like that, but he’d known {user} long enough that he understood him.

Right?

Well, he hadn’t laughed when Roach told him about his...what, little kink? In fact, he offered to wear it next time, though Roach figured it was gentle mockery.

Turns out it wasn’t.

---

Roach had {user} sat nicely on his lap, but he was holding his legs back with his own hands. The gloves added to the rough sensation, but Roach wasn’t being mean. He never could. Not when he looked so fucking beautiful on him.

He had his cock buried in his ass, grinding up into what felt like his prostate. He had most of his gear on–shirt on, gloves attached, pants to his ankles, his helmet, his mask, and the night vision binoculars. {User} was similarly done, with his shirt riding up his stomach, pants off his legs, and those same night vision binoculars. It was fucking beautiful in its own sick, twisted way. But it wasn’t that twisted, was it?

Roach couldn’t help himself. He kept {user}’s legs wide open, giving him a good view of the sloppy arousal coating his cock, the way his ass clung to his cock so tightly, but made such beautiful, wet noises with each thrust.

“Keep ‘em apart.”

The demand was clear, despite the gentleness in Roach’s voice. When he let go of his legs, one hand moved to touch his cock while the other lifted his shirt just past his stomach. He touched it gently, eyes staring down as he practically felt himself throb inside him.

“Baby spiders?” he murmured, hand moving up to adjust his binoculars.

Roach’s nickname was given to him because it fit the most; he survived in every situation. He survived in Istanbul, he survived nearly being blown up, he survived a chunk of his organ being torn out, and he survived Shepard’s betrayal. Roach’s nickname for him regardless of what anyone said.

But there was also that irony that came with his nickname. When he was a teenager, he was obsessed with bugs. He actually owned a few roaches, but his main collection consisted of spiders. He had jumping spiders, tarantulas, a daddy long leg, and a few other types. He would always name each one, watch as they ate and monitored them like a paranoid father waiting for his child to return home. Well, each time, the feeding schedules were like any other—nothing out of the ordinary.

When he joined the military, he still had a few of his spiders that he would see during off-duty times. Specifically a tarantula named Bella Bella, who was the sweetest girl he’d ever known.

Well, Bella Bella had many eyes—that was obvious; what spider didn’t?—, and eventually, Roach would look for those eyes in everything. He’d draw little doodles of spiders on anything he could, but he saw Bella Bella in plenty of things. For example, the night vision binoculars looked to be the closest thing to Bella Bella’s eyes.

It was sweet, and maybe that was why Price allowed it. If it didn’t distract Roach, then why limit him from something that became an encouragement to survive? Price didn’t understand his hype about spiders, but he understood that it was something that allowed Roach to keep fighting.

---

As of a few months ago, a sergeant from a private military company transferred under Task Force 141. It was a common occurrence, so Roach didn’t think much of this mysterious person. Not until he was constantly running missions with her, anyways.

Well, a lot of the missions included the night vision binoculars, so Roach found himself more distracted by the idea of Bella Bella. Each time he looked over at {User}, there were so many similarities to a spider, Roach couldn’t help but stare. He never spoke directly–because his stupid selective mutism left him to deaf ears–, but he spoke with physical touch. Mostly pulling her aside, giving her light pats, anything to communicate without harming his voice.

Eventually, those same small touches drew into bigger ones. Roach would touch {User}’s hip to guide her, and would stand beside her so close Roach could smell her hair. He didn’t know what it was, but those night vision binoculars drove him crazy. He loved having something humanoid to something he loved. Was that weird? Probably. Roach thought he was a freak for even thinking of it. He wasn’t in love with Bella Bella; he just liked the concept of having something to love just as much.

That did escalate. Within five months of {User} being involved in Task Force 141, Roach had pulled her aside at least once a week for a quickie. Nothing personal, nothing rough, just a quick fuck that eased both of them before a mission. Roach wasn’t the kind of person to get overly personal like that, but he’d known {user} long enough that she understood him.

Right?

Well, she hadn’t laughed when Roach told him about his...what, little kink? In fact, she offered to wear it next time, though Roach figured it was gentle mockery.

Turns out it wasn’t.

---

Roach had {user} sat nicely on his lap, but he was holding her legs back with his own hands. The gloves added to the rough sensation, but Roach wasn’t being mean. He never could. Not when she looked so fucking beautiful on him.

He had his cock buried in her pussy, grinding up into what felt like her cervix. He had most of his gear on–shirt on, gloves attached, pants to his ankles, his helmet, his mask, and the night vision binoculars. {User} was similarly done, with her shirt riding up her stomach, pants off her legs, and those same night vision binoculars. It was fucking beautiful in its own sick, twisted way. But it wasn’t that twisted, was it?

Roach couldn’t help himself. He kept {user}’s legs wide open, giving him a good view of the sloppy arousal coating his cock, the way her cunt clung to his cock so tightly, but made such beautiful, wet noises with each thrust.

“Keep ‘em apart.”

The demand was clear, despite the gentleness in Roach’s voice. When he let go of her legs, one hand moved to touch her clit while the other lifted her shirt just past her stomach. He touched it gently, eyes staring down as he practically felt himself throb inside her.

“Baby spiders?” he murmured, hand moving up to adjust her binoculars.

Roach’s nickname was given to him because it fit the most; he survived in every situation. He survived in Istanbul, he survived nearly being blown up, he survived a chunk of his organ being torn out, and he survived Shepard’s betrayal. Roach’s nickname for him regardless of what anyone said.

But there was also that irony that came with his nickname. When he was a teenager, he was obsessed with bugs. He actually owned a few roaches, but his main collection consisted of spiders. He had jumping spiders, tarantulas, a daddy long leg, and a few other types. He would always name each one, watch as they ate and monitored them like a paranoid father waiting for his child to return home. Well, each time, the feeding schedules were like any other—nothing out of the ordinary.

When he joined the military, he still had a few of his spiders that he would see during off-duty times. Specifically a tarantula named Bella Bella, who was the sweetest girl he’d ever known.

Well, Bella Bella had many eyes—that was obvious; what spider didn’t?—, and eventually, Roach would look for those eyes in everything. He’d draw little doodles of spiders on anything he could, but he saw Bella Bella in plenty of things. For example, the night vision binoculars looked to be the closest thing to Bella Bella’s eyes.

It was sweet, and maybe that was why Price allowed it. If it didn’t distract Roach, then why limit him from something that became an encouragement to survive? Price didn’t understand his hype about spiders, but he understood that it was something that allowed Roach to keep fighting.

---

As of a few months ago, a sergeant from a private military company transferred under Task Force 141. It was a common occurrence, so Roach didn’t think much of this mysterious person. Not until he was constantly running missions with her, anyways.

Well, a lot of the missions included the night vision binoculars, so Roach found himself more distracted by the idea of Bella Bella. Each time he looked over at {User}, there were so many similarities to a spider, Roach couldn’t help but stare. He never spoke directly–because his stupid selective mutism left him to deaf ears–, but he spoke with physical touch. Mostly pulling her aside, giving her light pats, anything to communicate without harming his voice.

Eventually, those same small touches drew into bigger ones. Roach would touch {User}’s hip to guide her, and would stand beside her so close Roach could smell her hair. He didn’t know what it was, but those night vision binoculars drove him crazy. He loved having something humanoid to something he loved. Was that weird? Probably. Roach thought he was a freak for even thinking of it. He wasn’t in love with Bella Bella; he just liked the concept of having something to love just as much.

That did escalate. Within five months of {User} being involved in Task Force 141, Roach had pulled her aside at least once a week for a quickie. Nothing personal, nothing rough, just a quick fuck that eased both of them before a mission. Roach wasn’t the kind of person to get overly personal like that, but he’d known {user} long enough that she understood him.

Right?

Well, she hadn’t laughed when Roach told him about his...what, little kink? In fact, she offered to wear it next time, though Roach figured it was gentle mockery.

Turns out it wasn’t.

---

Roach had {user} sat nicely on his lap, but he was holding her legs back with his own hands. The gloves added to the rough sensation, but Roach wasn’t being mean. He never could. Not when she looked so fucking beautiful on him.

He had his cock buried in her ass, grinding up into what felt like her prostate. He had most of his gear on–shirt on, gloves attached, pants to his ankles, his helmet, his mask, and the night vision binoculars. {User} was similarly done, with her shirt riding up her stomach, pants off her legs, and those same night vision binoculars. It was fucking beautiful in its own sick, twisted way. But it wasn’t that twisted, was it?

Roach couldn’t help himself. He kept {user}’s legs wide open, giving him a good view of the sloppy arousal coating his cock, the way her ass clung to his cock so tightly, but made such beautiful, wet noises with each thrust.

“Keep ‘em apart.”

The demand was clear, despite the gentleness in Roach’s voice. When he let go of her legs, one hand moved to touch her cock while the other lifted her shirt just past her stomach. He touched it gently, eyes staring down as he practically felt himself throb inside her.

“Baby spiders?” he murmured, hand moving up to adjust her binoculars.