megitsunehime

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Gorgeous boys

[megitsunehime]

"Right, tha's me back."

"How's the gym?"

"Awright, empty aroon this time."

"Usually is. C'mere."

"Naw."

"Why?"

"Becoz, Simon, yer a wee freak who'll huff ma baws lik a smackheid wae a can ae spraypaint ciz ye cannae control yersel aroon sweaty men."

"And here I was gonna ask you to taste test the strawberry tart I made."

"Really?"

"No, I was gonna suck your cock."

"... Och, fine. Ye've convinced me."

"Thought so."

"Am still wantin some ae that tart, though."

"There's only one tart in this house."

"Get ma cock in yer gob an shut it."

[megitsunehime]

Ghost’s first time at the MacTavish house (+Soap’s niece)

[megitsunehime]

Price doodle!

[megitsunehime]

Aether

@AetherDraw

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A: HOW DARE YOU DETAIN MY MEN?!! 🤬🤬🤬

[megitsunehime]

We all love the trope of “powers out/trapped somewhere/on the run have to huddle for warmth” scenario. Needing to press bodies together to get an ounce of warmth. Someone mumbling skin to skin contact would be better to generate heat. Hands rubbing over any exposed limbs to rub some warmth into them. Lips grazing over necks and shoulders as they talk because they are so tightly pressed together.

But what about the other option?

What if the power goes out in the heat of summer?  When it's suffocatingly hot outside, and as you lie in the dark silence you can feel the temperature start to climb. The last dregs of conditioned air slipping away too fast as the swelting heat fills the room. The bugs outside growing louder without the calming hum of your fan, sirens in the distance sounding like they are right in the room with you.

The blankets need to go first; they hold too much warm air. Then, as you sprawl on top of the covers, careful to not touch Simon because he's a furnace on his own, that starts to not be enough. The stagnant air is getting heavy, and you can feel sweat starting on your back.

Fine. Shirt goes next. You toss it off the side of the bed and roll onto your stomach to try to give your back a break and cool it down. There's no cool side in this scenario. It's too hot.

You shift again, rolling on your side to face Simon in the dark. You can't see him, but you can sense his presence and hear him breathing quietly. He hasn't moved since you kicked the blankets off the edge of the bed. You know he's on his back, that's how he sleeps. When you reach a tentative hand out, you can feel his arm and know he has his hand propped under his head.

Frustrated, but trying to not wake him if he managed to get back to sleep, you roll the other way. Maybe if you dangle your feet off the edge of the bed, it will help cool you. Or the demon under the bed will snatch you up and put you out of your misery. Both seem like a good option.

Thirty minutes later, there is still no ETA on the power coming back, and your phone battery is almost out. You can't keep tossing and turning, though. It's doing nothing but agitating you more, and you don't want to wake Simon.

Sliding both your legs off the edge, you move to stand when two arms wrap around your middle and drag you back. The hands make you start, but Simon's grip is tight as he pulls you flush against his chest.

It's ten degrees warmer against him. You can feel the sweat on your back slide against the curls of his chest hair, feel the sticky skin on his arms as he holds you. A drop of sweat slips down your neck as you attempt to roll away, but he burrows his face against your shoulder, not letting you move.

It's too hot for this. But as you seem to be literally melting into the bed, Simon seems unaffected. He's sweaty, there is no denying that, but he's not uncomfortable. He's tangled around you tightly, leg wrapped around yours, one hand splayed on your stomach, the other arm cradling your head.

You try to stay there, try to enjoy his closeness, but you can't do it. It's too much. You can feel his warm breath on your neck, sure that it must be muggy air he's breathing, and sweat is building between your breasts.

There's no sleeping like this, no relaxing. It's miserable, and you can feel the grumpiness starting to take over. You wriggle again in displeasure, then his hand on your stomach moves. You think he's finally relenting, growing too hot himself. But then his fingers trace over your heated skin, nails scratching lightly.

He doesn't seem to care that you are sweaty. His fingers moving along your ribs and tracing over the swell of your breasts. It's a soft gesture, an exploratory and curious one, even. When the tips of his fingers find a bead of sweat that has rolled to your stomach, he follows it, slipping his hand between your breasts to feel the heat and moisture there. But he doesn't linger long, letting his hand go higher up toward your throat, gripping it slightly as his lips find the back of your neck. His tongue darts out to lick a swipe of skin, making you gasp out of surprise and perhaps a bit of indignation.

That doesn't stop him.

The room is stifling as he rolls you on your back, pulling you over by the hip so you are sprawled on your back. You get a brief reprieve from his body heat, one moment to take a deep breath of the humid air, before his hands are pawing at your underwear. You hadn't had the chance to pull those off yet, and you burn internally knowing they must be soaked from sweat. But he doesn't hesitate to drag them off you and ball them up in his hand as he nudges himself between your legs.

You reach a hand up to push him back, sure that if he gets on top of you, you'll suffocate from the warmth, to find he's absolutely soaked in sweat. His chest is slick; you can feel it on his stomach as it presses against yours as he leans down, ending your feeble attempt to push him away.

When you reach up to find his face, his brow is dripping with sweat. Even running your fingers through his hair, you can feel it. He's always been a furnace, your personal heater in the winter, but now he was molten. The kisses are wet, and you flinch involuntarily as a bead of his sweat catches you on the forehead.

It's hot, god, it's so hot, but his lips keep you entranced. His hips grinding against yours to get you to spread wider for him makes you groan. It's disgustingly slick no matter where you touch him. Hands sliding down his back, over his shoulders. Gripping his neck as he spreads you open on his fingers to find you drenched. You know it's from sweat and need, but he doesn't care. Doesn't stop him from gripping you behind the knees and pushing them up to your chest to bury his face in your cunt.

You cry out at the ceiling as he laps at your overheated core, fingers digging into your skin. The sheets stick to your back as you writhe, hands grabbing the back of his head to push him deeper into you. You can't fight how good it feels to have his head between your legs as your body and the room temperature continue to rise. You know the squelch of his fingers curling inside of you is from his spit and sweat, but that doesn't stop you from begging him to fuck you with his tongue. And when you arch up and moan as he finds that spot inside, you can feel your own cum adding to the mix.

He doesn't relent, though. Doesn't give you a break to try and breathe as he aligns his hips with yours and notches himself at your entrance. You grab at his shoulders, nails and fingers slipping in the sweat as he slides home in one shot. Your body hot and pliable for him.

Pushing up on your elbows, you kiss him, tasting yourself on his tongue as he fucks you slowly, pointedly burying himself as deep into you as he can with each stroke. You begin to wonder if the heat has finally caught up to him and he needs to take it slow. His breathing heavy, panting even, as he rests his forehead against yours. That's fine with you, you like slow, like the intimacy of a long build up before he finally unleashes himself.

You wrap your arms around him, let his head slip to rest into the crook of your neck and shoulder as he ruts into you. His lips move over your skin, teeth lightly clamping over your jugular as you hook a leg over his waist, fighting to keep it from slipping.

The room smells of sex. Of sweat. Of overheated bodies and humidity. And in the dead silence of the world around you, the sounds are amplified. The grunts Simon lets out as he picks up the pace, the slap of his thighs against your ass, your increasing whines of need. The creak of the bed underneath the rocking of your bodies and shifting of sheets as Simon pushes up to hold onto the headboard as he drives you harder into the mattress.

You know he's going to come before the gasping moan escapes his lips. You can feel it in the way his practiced movements grow frantic, sloppy. How he grabs your jaw to tilt your head back so he can hear you clearly scream out his name.

His climax is just as messy as everything else has been. Pulling out to finish all over your cunt and stomach, letting it pool in your belly button and drip between your legs. You'd admonish him for it, for making a mess, but there's no point.

The sheets are already ruined between your come, his spit, and the moisture. If you had the ability to get up and check the window, you are sure the glass would be covered in condensation. But you don't. Too worn out and hot to move from your spot as Simon leans back on his knees to catch his breath. His hand sliding over the mess he made of you, using your balled up underwear to clean you up, only to smear it more.

And as you lay there contemplating how much work it would be to get cleaned up versus just lying in the mess, the beeps and whirs of the power coming back meet your ears. The momentary soft glow of your phone lighting up as the charger reconnects giving you a view of Simon's flushed, grinning face.

[megitsunehime]

this is not my screenshot

discord has been pushing its new uk online safety act changes early for some users. this screenshot belongs to a 32 year old who used discords built in face scanner to verify their age. the scanner said they were 11 years old, and instantly suspended the account, with no option to try again or appeal, and the suspension will automatically end in 2027, when they’re “old enough” to use discord.

DO NOT SCAN YOUR FACE TO VERIFY YOUR AGE

if you really want to verify your age, use a different option available. don’t trust the face scan.

[megitsunehime]

cult!au but make it a compound where price genetically engineering a secret society of alphas and omegas, using resources provided by Laswell and the CIA. locals are skeptical of the area, rumours have spread like wildfire over the years. talks of aliens, secret military operations, drug farming…

trespassers never leave, and deserters never seen again. phones lose signal, batteries drain in seconds when outsiders get too close to the compound, if they get too close that is…

and it’s rare an outsider survives their first encounter with the compound leader, John Price. but some have proven more useful alive than as premium fertiliser for Johnny’s fields

they always fight the change in their bodies. the overwhelming stench of pheromones, the primal urge to submit, dominate, breed… they accept their fate soon after their first mating cycle. unable to deny themselves the carnal pleasure their new biology craves

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Triple trouble??? 💀💀💀

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Can/Will you do for Nikolai?

-🪦

Hmmmm golden eagle!reader who met nik during one of his ops helping price, and just absolutely fell for the Russian.

Ofc nik noticed you the second he watched you jump from the heli and grab a sniper like he was simple prey. A big hybrid with a love for the sky, how could he not want you?

So ofc he convinces price to hand you over. Nik wastes no efforts in courting you, providing a safe space to nest, food, materials. Anything an avian hybrid could want.

Hes thrilled when you jump out of the heli one day just to circle around him, a modified mating dance just for him. Hes perfect. Flies with you everywhere, cheers when you catch prey (grab enemies off the ground and drop them lol), learns some basic avian calls so he can understand u better.

Hes also the sweetest guy when it comes time to preen. Buys the expensive oils bc you deserve it, lays you down in the nest with his large thighs over urs. Cock pressed right against ur ass. Hes got surprisingly delicate hands, plenty of practice with small details after fucking with the wiring of his heli. So hes able to clean out every feather and arrange them perfectly.

He also maybe intentionally finishes you three times over before hes done, but he just wants to make sure his bird is happy :]

[megitsunehime]

“i’m goin’ home to fuck my wife.”

and those were the last words john uttered before slamming the palm of his hand down against his desk and leaving. spoken the way most things he says are - gruff and final, with no room for argument - stunning the room into silence until the door shut hard behind him.

everyone just looked at each other, dumbstruck.

“should we wait for him to come back?”

“what the hell does that mean—”

“is that code for something?”

“wait, he’s married?”

price didn’t hear a word of it - by that point he was already halfway down the hall, boots pounding concrete with purpose, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, everything else dissolving into white-hot static behind his eyes.

he can take a lot of bullshit. does it daily. but fuckin’ hell - they wouldn’t stop. wouldn’t stop talking, hovering, circling him like crows. clipping questions at him in endless fucking rotations.

what now, captain? what’s next? what do we do about makarov? do we move now or wait for shepherd’s greenlight? have you seen the updated file? should we pull soap and gaz back? do we burn the safe house? double-tap the asset? what’s the protocol—

jesus fuckin’ christ.

it’d been too long. john’s mentally checked out and he knows it. doesn’t care. he didn’t want to be in that room. didn’t want to sit at that table. didn’t want to give another goddamn order with five pairs of bloodshot eyes looking at him like he’s meant to have all the answers and none of the doubt.

he needs a break. not a debrief. not another satellite feed. not another fucking decision.

he needs to go home and fuck his wife.

needs to put his hands on something solid, something that he doesn’t have to second guess. something that’d let him burn off all the static and pressure and noise building between his temples without asking anything much in return. his sanctuary where he can fall apart and come back clearer. reset his head before it spun off his shoulders.

so he peeled out of the parking lot before he’d even properly put the car in drive, and sent you one text:

‘take off anything you value and put away everything breakable. i’ll be home in 15.’

[megitsunehime]

feed them

[megitsunehime]

Close ups of the bois🥰