#fruit soap

[tourmelion]

Old spice ad

[huknatural]

Revitalize your skin with the goodness of fruits in Huk Fruit Soap.

Infused with the natural extracts of nourishing fruits, this soap delivers a burst of freshness while gently cleansing and hydrating your skin. Its fruity aroma invigorates your senses, making every bath a refreshing experience.

Key Benefits:

Deep Cleansing: Effectively removes dirt and impurities for a radiant glow.

Hydrating Formula: Locks in moisture to keep your skin soft and smooth.

Rich in Nutrients: Packed with the goodness of fruit extracts to nourish your skin.

Fruity Fragrance: A delightful aroma that uplifts your mood.

Suitable for All Skin Types: Gentle enough for daily use.

Pamper your skin with the fruity freshness of Huk Fruit Soap and enjoy a vibrant, glowing complexion every day.

[girl-lostconnection]

For @nightunite. I actually came back with some Seal!Soap and some hurt/comfort of poly!141 x fruit bat!Reader. Hope this is satisfactory

Harbour seal!Soap who’s off the base whenever he can — getting back home as soon as possible, the favourite baby of his mama, the oldest son and pride of his family.

Harbour seal!Soap who has difficulty slotting into most teams, he’s not a pack hybrid, he’s not attuned to the thin threads of connection that wolves or bats or even cows can feel, he’s him and maybe that’s the problem?

Harbour seal!Soap who tries hard to blend in, because he is friendly, of course he is friendly, he’s the friendliest guy on base but whispers are that he smiles too wide, that his laugh is too strained, that his teeth are always out — sharp, menacing things.

Price takes one look at his file and thrusts the pup in Simon’s hands, hums to take care of the seal and Wolf!Simon isn’t even sure what the fuck is he supposed to do.

The lad is jumpy despite obvious brilliance, the lad is trying to smile so hard Simon’s wolf grumbles with the urge to paw at him, press cheeky pup in the ground, teach him some bloody manners. You don’t show your teeth off to the likes of Simon unless you want to have them knocked out.

But Soap wiggles his way in every conversation, eyes shiny and smiles wide up until Ghost corners him, looming like death himself — snarls that if he doesn’t want a big bad wolf to bite him, he’ll fucking stop.

Simon doesn’t know whether to act on his promise or laugh in disbelief when Johnny raises his head and grins wider, now showing off his own canine’s deliberately. Look at that, the pup can bite, can’t he?

Komodo dragon!Price just hums when he finds them tangled in each other and places a bite under Soap’s collar, teeth sinking in warm salty flesh, tongue licking off the blood.

Komodo dragons thrive on hierarchy, Price thrives on power — that’s the only thing he won’t compromise on.

Johnny grins and finds way in his arms as well. Too damn bad, captain, too damn bad. Harbour seals thrive on attention.

Their unit is all live wires and sparks and heavy heady tension — air so thick with perpetual hunger that they could carve their initials inside of a little heart.

It gets easier when Kyle arrives — he takes away some of the tension, he gets each of them, catching up on everything twice as fast as Soap did.

It scratches Johnny the wrong way, makes a sensitive small part of him whine that this is it, that Kyle will take his place because how can anyone not like Kyle? Kyle is handsome, Kyle is bright and so effortlessly charming Soap wants to whip out little notebook where sergeant speaks.

But at some point Gaz pecks a kiss to his temple and pulls him on the couch of the rec room. Warm, inviting, draping hand over his shoulders — draping wing over both of them.

Soap watches him — teeth sharp, jaws itching to try the pretty wings on the pretty Gaz, head plopping in his lap.

Kyle slots into their team like he always was there — fingers careful in Johnny’s hair, hands warm around Ghost’s shoulders, talons sharp on Price’s skin.

And then you arrive. Little bat with big eyes and big wings and some of the fluffiest hair Soap has ever seen.

You don’t slot in like Gaz, you are a little rougher around the edges, a little awkward with your approaches.

Bats are social creatures but not all of us take the best parts from our hybrid sides.

You are bloody amazing at what you do, your efficiency is not a concern but you don’t wiggle your way right in the team.

You hover on the outside, you eat your fruits alone (he isn’t even sure why you even eat them? Aren’t bats carnivores? Maybe you just like them) and in the dark, you watch them — always in the periphery of the vision. But never too close.

You remind Soap himself.

Small childish part of him wants to keep things that way, small childish part of him doesn’t like new people on the team, doesn’t like sharing attention.

But you don’t ask for any. You are just there.

It takes him month and a half and a stupid joke Ghost makes about vampires for you to reply that you are a) vegetarian b) a fruit bat and not a spectral bat for Soap to feel like someone kicked him in the face. Simon pauses, tilting head to the side, his tail stopping its friendly wag.

Your smile is too wide, your teeth are so sharp and you don’t try to fit in.

You try to stay away.

They don’t know you and you just let them know that they don’t. You just let them know that they haven’t tried to know you.

Soap spends the whole evening googling information about your species with Ghost hovering above his shoulder, dark eyes reading faster than Soap scrolls.

The next morning is the first time none of them comments on the amount of fruit you consume for breakfast.

Kyle slots in next to you, murmurs “gorgeous wings, love”, asks if you could help him with preening, offers you company for the morning drills.

Offer makes something in you flutter, sending spark of hope down your chest, your big eyes zeroing on warm friendly Kyle.

(Kyle will never admit how embarrassed he was to realise that you slipped through the cracks. Kyle will never admit that social “bird” part of him croaked with distress when he noticed that you are always a little behind. Never with them.)

Soap feels something in him clench when you glance in his direction and then shake your head at Kyle. Soap knows why you looked at him very very well.

He notices Price with your file in the afternoon, reading glasses on the tip of his nose, tail swaying in with something very similar to agitation. Price doesn’t know how to crack on you, you never fight for his right at the top of the food chain, you never contest his power. He has nothing to bite down on.

Soap isn’t sure you will give captain anything to hook on. Soap isn’t sure you feel like you can.

Johnny finds you late at night, ridiculously big bowl of fruit in your lap, his cheeks burning when your head snaps up at him and you put it away.

He and Ghost used to tease you about the amount of fruits and berries you consumed — you started eating less at dinners with them.

Soap’s throat bobs when he gulps and he shakes his head, plopping himself down on the carpet next to you.

He should have thought you’d find a way to catch up on your meals when no one looks.

When no one can make you feel wrong for eating what you like to eat.

Johnny extends his palm to you. You won’t eat while he’s here but he’d like you to. Maybe you will continue if he asks you to share.

Wikipedia page smacks his brain immediately, reminding that fruit bats eat alone and are very protective of their food.

Bloody awesome, Johnny, you might’ve as well tried to wrestle fruits out of your grip.

But before his panic forces him to hide his palm away you carefully place a date in his palm, your darker claws cool and pointy. Soap doesn’t know why but he stares, eyes gluing to him.

“Can do damage with these, eh?”, he attempts at having conversation, trying not to smile too wide. Not to show off too much teeth.

You hum out “depends” and in demonstration poke a piece of orange, skewing it on a thin claw.

Soap feels his brows arch, leaning closer, unbidden “how many can you stack on ‘em?” leaving his mouth before he thinks.

To his absolute delight you snicker and pass him the bowl.

He spends the rest of the hour stacking pieces of fruit and skewing berries on your claws and watching as you practically inhale them once he’s done.

When you two finish up the bowl, you both are covered in juice and are grinning like mad idiots but Soap never felt lighter.

He watches you grin back at him — wide and toothy — and feels something shifting.

Maybe he’s not the pack hybrid like Ghost or doesn’t have Kyle’s easy charm or even John’s acute understanding of dynamics within the team. But he is him and it seems like that’s exactly what you need.

Few months later Soap finds himself with you nuzzled in his neck, Kyle plastered over you two like he’s a big blanket, Simon reading something in the quiet low voice of his and John already crawling into den you call bed.

It’s warm and he’s squished by people who like him from every side and he finally belongs.

Soap presses a kiss to the top of your head and smiles wide when you raise it, giving him a slow sleepy blink. His smiles are wide and toothy.

His smiles are always welcomed with his team.

And so is he.

[bressynonym]

an apple a day 🍎

[rusticfurnace]

[bitterrfruit]

he wins the fight

couldn't get boxer!Johnny out of my mind so here's a short ramble... cw: blood, aggression

Johnny is one man in the ring, and one man out of it. When he’s your lover, he’s playful, he’s clingy, and he’s possessive to the point of absurdity. Everything he does, he does to please you - you have him so well trained. 

But once he straps his heaving fists into those padded gloves, once he hops bare-footed over the ring ropes and joins his opponent in the arena - it’s as if he shifts from human into some blood-thirsty animal, ravaged by aggression and pure testosterone. You watch keenly from the sidelines - the first time Johnny had invited you to spectate - and you don’t recognise him. Guiltily, you find the violent stranger even more enrapturing. 

After the first round, a flurry of fists and a cacophony of grunts, he is already dripping with sweat. Tan skin turns wet and glossy under the harsh overhead lights, pulled tight over twitching muscles. His arms are so swollen, so strained that when he flexes his biceps they are as thick as your head. Veins bulge like ropes under his skin, you swear you can see his heartbeat from where you sit. 

His shorts hang low on his hips, black and red polyester shimmers like satin. You can see his heavy cock swinging around as he hops on his feet, bouncing his arms, ready for the next blow. His soft pectorals and padded abdominals turn to stone as he throws a rabid fist into his opponent, before he takes a cruel roundhouse to the jaw. 

He grunts and groans like a bear with each impact, given and taken, and it makes you suck your lip between your teeth. A spate of blood pours from his nose as a punch strikes, hot and red, it splatters over the grey mat in front of you in a rain of burgundy. It makes you nervous - it hurts you to see him injured so callously, and yet, it has utterly no effect on him. He wipes the blood from his cheek with his shoulder, smears it over his skin like lotion. It fills his teeth and stains his blue mouthguard, and he licks it from under his lip. Returns to the fight like the blow had been a mere kiss. 

You can tell, watching him, how much he is holding back. He’s all but throbbing with bestial fury, pent-up and ready to burst. He holds steady until the fourth round, letting his opponent land punch after punch, and the impacts collide with his body in dull thuds as though pulverising a hock of pork. He finishes the fight with an uppercut to his opponent’s head, under the eye socket - such a vicious punch that you almost hear his fist hurling through the air. The dull smack of its collision echoes across the audience, and his opponent lands flat on his back with a bounce, he stays floppy and still. 

And as the referee loudly declares a knockout, grabbing Johnny’s fist and raising it into the ceiling - the victor - his eyes fix on you. 

His glower is hungry and it burns right through you, it makes your heart flutter anxiously inside your ribs. Eyes lidded, he smiles like a shark when you cheer for him, blood in his teeth; even wider when your celebration falters at his intensity. 

When the referee lets him go, he charges in your direction like a bull. Rips off his gloves and dumps them into the corner of the ring, flexing the bruised fingers of his wrapped hands as he jumps over the ropes. Before you can blink he approaches where you sit, taking your pretty jaw in his rough hand and lifting you by it. 

You squeak as he yanks your mouth to his, uncaring of the audience, open and salty with sweat - his blood-soaked tongue strokes against yours and your mouth fills with the flavour of metal. He separates his lips from you with a foul slurp and holds his forehead to yours, leaves you panting like a puppy as he hooks his other arm into the arch of your back.

Up close you can see how battered he is; one eye swollen shut, his lids turned big purple pillows, wet lashes peeking from between them. The bridge of his nose is fat and blue, and his lower lip has a deep split right through the soft pink meat. 

You suck in a short breath, preparing to ask if he is okay - but he steals a harsh grip of your ass with a frenzied hand, fingers burrowing deep into the soft flesh, and your concern turns to spit on your tongue. He holds your body tight against his, you feel his sweat seep through the thin cotton of your t-shirt. 

“Won it just f’you,” he grumbles through a grin, speech slurred and dumb. “Just for you.” 

Nodding, you smile weakly, flustered; “You did so good.” 

Grinning wider, his teeth turn sharp, and tugs you against him more tightly; you feel his cock twitch against your belly, weighty and insatiable, and it is as solid as iron. 

“Ye’re my prize, hen,” he growls, low and savage like the snarl of a wolf. His cruel tone is so unfamiliar, so animal - you feel your cunt fluttering on primal instinct.

His bloody lips move to your cheek, leave a raw red print, and he gnars into your flustered skin;  “An' I’m gonna fuck you till you cry.” 

[latenightsundayblues]

Ive been utterly and hopelessly taken over by that one clip of leigh whannell in a bathtub so i made it into chainshipping content. Youre welcome

Can't bathe alone due to horrible flashbacks of past traumatic experiences with bathrooms? Just take your divorced doctor dilf with you

[heartnosekid]

💛 junie the banana 🍌

for anon!

🍌-💛-🍌 / 💛-🍌-💛 / 🍌-💛-🍌

[l3m0nflavoredst1mz]

Hello! :3 Can I request a stimboard for a banana

Banana Stimboard

🍌 🍌 🍌

🍌 🍌 🍌

🍌 🍌 🍌

[smilestimz]

🍏🍇🍌🍑🍊

‼️Please Respect my Banner.‼️ ‼️Do not delete the caption.‼️ ‼️Please link back to this post if ‼️ ‼️you use one of these gifs!Thank you!‼️

[gomzdrawfr]

Rambutan PriceSoap

[zephyraes]

STIMBOARD - RAINBOW

[ x x x - x x x - x x x ] - [ requested by anon! ] [ x x x - x x x - x x x - x x x ] > custom requests: none!

T3RFS ARE NOT SAFE HERE

THANK YOU this was such a fun request!!! :D

[i-wish-i-could-eat-soap]

[girl-lostconnection]

I just wanna say I love your fruit bat!reader and I just had to think about the boys further misunderstanding when reader maybe has a darker aesthetic, but reader doesn't get at all the connection cause like yeah black's just a neat colour, oh I guess vampires are cool. Wait me? *Mouthful of orange or something* me no fruits all the way? I don't know what you mean.

On one side it would be incredibly funny as misunderstanding but the devil is whispering in my ear so let’s walk the other way.

Imagine Reader freshly selected to join the team, nervous about meeting new people who they read EVERYTHING on, just to be ready.

And no one is hostile, right? They are friendly, almost too friendly, which grates on your nerves a little but you know, maybe you are thinking too much about it?

Works up until the first joke about the vampires, huge wolf operator (you find out later that his call sign is Ghost).

“Know why people don’t like workin’ with vampire bats?”, the question catches you off guard, your eyes snapping to the man’s eyes and you tilt your head to the side. You don’t know him yet, you aren’t sure how much of a reaction is allowed in this circumstance.

“‘Cause they are pain in the neck”, he announces, his brown eyes boring a hole into you, his tail wagging like he is waiting for you to start laughing.

You don’t. You stare right back at him, fingers flexing so the sharp points of your claws dig into your palm and you manage a smile that feels a little too forced.

Big wolf in front of you apparently sees it as well, because you can see the way his jaw flexes under the mask.

So for some reason he decides to give it another go. (Only months later you will find out that Simon was desperately scrambling for all the bat x vampire puns he remembered, thinking that the first one sounded a little too abrasive)

“What drink does bat order at the bar?”, he asks, his left ear giving in a small twitch that catches your eye. He sure is big for the wolf, most of their family you met in the past were tall and lean but this guy is built like a bloody tank.

“What?”, you ask, heart beating a little harder than you’d like it, anxiety coiling in your gut.

“A Bloody Mary”, wolf hums out, his ear giving in another twitch and corners of your mouth curl upwards. Cute.

Wolf’s tail starts to wag again, eyes satisfied as he walks off and you follow him to see your new space and unpack.

Isn’t so bad for the first meeting, right?

But in hindsight every interaction from then on felt…somehow forced. Recurring about blood and meat and fucking Halloween. Remarks about wearing too much black or the way Soap once chuckled at the silver chain with a beautiful red cross. Not a religious symbol but simply an accessory you liked.

It all was piling up so quickly you decided to just…stay on the outside. Maybe that would be better. Maybe they were trying to tell you that they didn’t want a bat and didn’t like bats.

That they didn’t like you.

It takes time to undo and the process is slow — you are a tough nut to crack, but they don’t try to crack you. Just…make amends, yeah?

Your relationship with Simon makes a cycle when he peels you oranges, eyes soft as you devour pieces of peaches.

“Do you know what’s a vegetarian vampire bat’s favourite fruit, luv?”, he hums out, placing a peeled orange in your bowl, something in his tone making you feel fuzzy.

“What is it?”, his tail is wagging and god the way he looks at you makes something tender in your chest ache, you mouth voluntarily falling open when he pushes a piece of peach in it, eyes crinkling.

“A neck-tarine”, Simon murmurs, his tail wagging harder when you laugh after a beat, juices from fruit dripping down your chin.

You shake your head at him in faux disbelief and he grins, popping a slice of orange in his mouth.

“Can do it all night”

You roll your eyes and instinctively smack his hand away when he tries to steal your bowl.

“That’s what I’m afraid of”

[puyostim]

pink and orange grapefruity toned board rq! ft. the fruit itself.

🩷 🧡 🩷

🧡 🩷 🧡

🩷 🧡 🩷

[aloehandsanitizer]