#soap embeds

[clnclm]

[whateveriwant]

I know you already did the 141 boys when their wife gives birth (which was fantastic btw) but maybe if they missed the birth because of a mission or whatever else your brilliant mind can think of!

Don't give me compliments because then I'll follow you home like a cat and you'll never get rid of me 😖

Price

(This goes for all the men, really) but he's absolutely gutted to not be with you as you're giving birth

Honestly, if he had the choice, he would've rather lobbed off his own arm than miss such a momentous occasion in both your lives

It’s nothing less than the literal fate of the world that's keeping him from you, and he makes sure to reiterate that over and over again

The only thing that gives Price a bit of peace of mind when leaving you at a time like this is knowing you have a strong support system to help you through it

And boy oh boy does he put those friends and family members to use by having them constantly text him with every update imaginable

What time your water breaks, how far apart your contractions are, how much you've dilated, so on and so on. He wants to know it all

While he has to remain focused during the bulk of the mission, when he's able to, he's whipping out his phone to scroll through the literal hundreds of messages that await him

The updates are so plentiful and detailed that if he tries hard enough, he can almost pretend like he was right there beside you all along

And once he gets to the pictures of you holding your little one for the first time, well… he's not afraid to admit that he sheds a manly tear or two at the sight

Soap

He kicked up quite the storm at work when he realized he was going to be missing the birth of his child

He did everything in his power to try to get out of the mission – to try to get back to you – but, ultimately, he had no other choice than to go

But he's not just going to go gently into the night. No, he has a few tricks up his sleeve to make it as if he's still there with you in some capacity

Like Price, Soap takes comfort in leaving you with a huge support system to help while he's away

And also similarly, he's recruiting your loved ones (more so their phones) into letting him video chat with you whenever he gets the opportunity

(Does that mean he snuck his unauthorized smartphone into the middle of a battlefield? …. Yes. Yes, he did. .……....… Don't tell Price)

You'll be in the midst of a call with him and a bullet will fly right by his head and embed itself in the wall behind him

Of course, this has you incredibly concerned, worrying over how you're distracting him when he should be focused on his mission

But he assures you there's no need to fret, dear. He's perfectly safe and everything’s completely fine

(Oh, and just disregard that sound in the background, hun. No, it wasn't a bomb. Heavens, no! It was a… a… piano falling out a window)

Gaz

Even when he's away on mission during normal circumstances, he's calling home all the time to check in with you

But given your current state, now he's checking in twice as much as he usually does

Expect a minimum of three calls a day just to ensure things are still all hunky dory on your end

It's during one of these calls that your water breaks, and as you fly into a state of panic, forgetting everything you're supposed to do, Gaz has to calmly walk you through the steps of what you'd planned

He's able to talk you down and make sure you get yourself to the hospital in one piece, but then after that call, weirdly, you don't hear from him again

It's not until several hours later when you've already delivered your child that you're awoken by the feeling of someone beside your bed

You look to see who it is and it's none other than Gaz himself – still dressed in his full gear, covered in all sorts of dirt and grime, a hushed apology pouring from his mouth

He's so sorry he couldn't get there quick enough, beautiful. He left as soon as he could once he'd pulled a few strings with Price

But you don't even care about the excuse because you're quickly enveloping him in a hug. With tears in your eyes, you assure him it's alright. He's here now, and that's all that matters to you

Ghost

When he was informed he was being shipped off to a remote location less than a month before your due date, he was livid

No phone, no radio, no communication of any kind with the outside world and he was supposed to be okay with that? He very much wasn't

The higher-ups had to really hammer home the whole “safety of the world” thing to convince Ghost to go, and even when he did, he did so grudgingly

He finds that as he sits in this shoddy shack halfway across the planet from you, all he can do is keep a mental tally of everything he’s missing

Going with you to your final check ups, helping you pack your hospital bag, holding your hand as you begin to push, etc. etc. etc.

But what about things he might not know about? What if something's gone wrong while he's been away?

He can't let himself think on it too much because he'll end up putting his fist through the drywall, and he needs at least one good hand to hold his child with when he meets them for the first time

Seven weeks, four days, and nine hours after he shipped out, Ghost is on a plane back home

He doesn't stop to talk to anyone when he touches down at base (not even to report to his superiors). He just gets into his car and books it, not letting off the gas until he's parked outside your home again

And when he finally reaches the front door, an unexpected tremor passing through him as he grabs for the handle, he closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath, and walks inside, beginning the next chapter of his life

[fidogo]

john price x reader, but accidentally running into the 141 after only going on a few dates with Price wc: 0.9K warnings: mentions of sex, age gap, daddy kink, dacryphilia, use of sweetheart + angel a/n: I make such a stupid joke in this about Ghost and Soap LMAO forgive me part 2

The pub was warm, a sweet haven from the chill outside. It was already decked out with cheap garlands and holiday lights, all hung with care. Your friends tear off to the bar to order a few drinks, leaving you to find a booth. 

You slink through the chairs and the tables, making a beeline to the one available booth. You’re about to get nice and cozy when you stop in your tracks. 

He’s here.

You didn’t know John terribly well. The two of you had only gone on a few very successful dates, but you were not close enough to know who he was sitting with.

What you did know was this:

1. John was older than you.

2. He was an absolute gentleman whenever he took you out.

3. He really liked when you called him daddy and liked fucking you until you were in tears (and after...especially after). 

Back to the three men at the table with him. Given their demeanor, it was safe to assume they were also military. One of them was maybe Gaz/Kyle...bu that was it.

Your feet move automatically. (Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you wonder if you should stop walking and go back to the booth you found. Maybe it’s too early to meet his friends.)

The men’s boisterous voices quiet as you approach, and the one with a mohawk elbows one who's masked. You ignore them, focusing on John, whose face softens a smidge (and his eyes light up).

“Hi, John.” You’re a little more nervous than you thought you would be. (He had you creaming on his cock and whining like you were in heat the other night. This should be nothing!)

“Hi, Sweetheart,” he answers, standing to kiss your cheek. “What’re you doing here?” His eyes are warm and earnest, immediately putting your anxieties to rest.

“Just getting a drink with my friends before the new year. Things are about to pick up, so we’re trying to just get a drink one last time.” John looks at you so fondly, it warms your heart. Fuck the alcohol, fuck the fire or radiator or whatever’s in here, all you need is John Price to look at you like this to make you warm and toasty. 

“Would you all want to sit with us?” He asks, knocking on the table. You glance at the table full table, trying not to laugh at his friend's expressions (shock and disbelief coupled with some respect for Price). 

Remembering his manners, John introduces you to his men and places one large, strong, hand on the small of your back.  You lean into him slightly, trying to not seem too pleased to be here with him. 

“This is Gaz, Soap, and Ghost,” John introduces. You freeze, confused for a second. You thought..... Oh. Oh.

“Oh.” You say aloud. Stupidly. John quirks a brow at you, prompting you to ramble on.

“I’m sorry. To be candid, I thought Soap and Ghost were your dogs..." you say trailing off at the end.

To be fair, he had only ever been to your place. You stare at Soap and Ghost. Based on the small amount of information you knew, you had just assumed...

John lets out a deep laugh and pulls you closer into his side. 

“What?” Soap yells. He’s no longer checking you out appreciatively and just looks at you in disbelief. “How could you think that, lassie?” 

“Well, John seems like a man who lives alone with two big dogs that have manly names.” You explain, sinking more into John’s side, trying to embed yourself into this warmth.

His thumb lightly strokes your back, sending shivers up your spine. He's so big and strong and... Your brain turns to mush for a second.

“Well, what about Gaz?” Soap gestures to said man, trying desperately to make any ground in this. Your push away your vaguely horny thoughts. You have to lock back in for Kyle's sake. You smile at Gaz and politely extend your hand. 

“No, I knew Kyle was a man. A pleasure to meet you.” Gaz shakes your hand and beams while Soap slumps over, and Ghost looks like he’s rethinking how he got here.

“Need to work on your manners. That way when Captain talks about you, people don’t think you're dogs,” Gaz says drawing out and emphasizing dogs with a cheeky smile. Soap just grumbles. 

“Anyway,” you start to say, turning your attention back to John. “My friends and I are about to take that booth back there, but thank you for the offer. But call me. Or text.” He nods and leans in to press a quick, chaste to your lips. 

“Have a good night, Sweetheart.” You nod before going to finally claim your booth. 

You hear Soap ask why John ‘calls Kyle by his name but not me or Simon’, making you smile. They seem nice.

And then you hear what you assume to be Ghost, say, “Not bad, Captain. Not bad at all.”

You preen at that, chipper mood carrying you through the night, even as your friends bombard you with questions once they’re all seated.

You wave shyly at John and his friends when they eventually file out into the cold. John sends you a wink that has you sinking into the booth. You’re so fucked. 

About 15 minutes later, your phone buzzes.

Can’t stop thinking about you, angel

Apparently, he’s fucked too.

part 2

[neuro-ass]

JJK Headcannons:

Yuji:

-Big fan of western movies though found a stash of Turkish soap operas and got really into them.

Megumi:

-When he was younger and only had the demon dogs, he would be scared of the dark, he would make the demon dogs go first and protect him. (Tsumiki would walk out of her room and see young Megumi waiting a little before entering a dark room.)

Nobara:

-Found a pack of Playboy magazines at a nail solan and read them all when she was bored. She has some of the women's name embed in her favorite nails.

Gojo:

-Has little figurines of Digimon, Azulongmon was his favorite. He begged Geto for a long time to ride the rainbow dragon just because it reminded him of Azulongmon.

Geto:

-Fought a chimpanzee. Lost to the chimpanzee. Chimpanzee proceeded to launch its shit at him. (Cult phase.)

Toji:

-Was asked more than once to be a male stripper.

Nanami: (I know a lot of people are going to disagree)

-Doesn't listen to classical music, listens to punk/rock bands. Like Marilyn Manson, Nirvana, She Wants Revenge, Green Day, etc... Was refused to get a punk haircut when he was younger so began his emo days.

Yuki:

-Sold coke as powder sugar. Is still hunted by the Yakuza.

Sukuna:

-Recreational poet, if he had a tumblr it would be one purely of poems. And he would insult and harass people who messed up a syllable count. "There should be a vowel in this word to elevate the tone of which it ends on the 3rd stanza."

Kenjaku:

-Big fan of heist movies.

-Also sometimes takes out his stitches so the wind can blow through the sulci and gyrus of the brain, like the edges. (You cannot tell me that isn't so refreshing.)

[sweetsirenscribbles]

Morning After

John Price x Reader

A/N: This is legit only my second fic ever. I don't have anyone to proofread, sorry for any mistakes.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: smut but not detailed, drinking, a teeny tiny bit of angst, fluff

When you woke up, you didn’t open your eyes. The sheets against your skin felt odd. Your mouth was sour, letting you know you had fallen asleep without brushing your teeth. Taking a deep breath in you stretched your limbs in the bed. You let out a satisfied groan before you realized you were completely naked. That made you stop mid-stretch and open your eyes. The room was dimly light by a floor lamp next to a chair in the corner. You didn’t recognize the lamp or the chair. As you sat up and took stock of the room you found yourself in the events of last night flood your brain. You had gone out to dinner with a friend for their birthday, but you ended up at a bar playing pool. The group had gotten nostalgic over your days as young adults with less responsibilities and better tolerance for alcohol. Which is how you ended up at the bar in the first place. You personally had only planned on staying out for a little while, but your friend had pulled the birthday card on you knowing you didn’t have any real plans the next day. While playing pool your group began chatting up the guys at the table next to yours and learned it was a group of military guys. There had been a guy who was so pretty you had initially thought he was a model. He had been introduced as Gaz. There had been a guy with a mohawk and Scottish accent who went by Soap and a man wearing a black face mask and a beanie who seemed impossibly large that Soap called Ghost. Ghost had been quiet the entire night only communicating in one word answers and grunts. Then there was John. When you had spotted him a zing had run up your spine. He had fixed his steady cerulean eyes on you when your friend had introduced you to his group. John had made a point to shake your hand during the introduction process which had caused heat to rush up your neck into you hairline. You remember hearing your friend snicker next to you while you stuttered out a greeting. The way John’s eyes crinkled around his eyes made your heart skip. You had vaguely thought the he was the only person you’d ever seen that had muttons chops that you found insanely attractive. During the course of the night you had chatted with him while you all played pool and drank. John had been surprisingly easy to talk to and you had soon found yourself chatting and exchanging flirty remarks with the man. You had planned on working up the courage to exchange numbers with him before you left. However, as you friends settled their tabs and ordered Ubers, John had asked you if you’d like to come back to his place. You’d had just enough to drink to be tipsy and agree before too much thought. You sent your friend a quick text and also starting sharing you location, because safety. Once you’d gotten to John’s house he’d pushed you against the inside of the front door and made you cum on his tongue twice before he carried you to his bedroom.

Just thinking about how things had gone down (pun intended) made your skin flush. You must have passed out at some point in the night. The man in question was not currently in the room. You get out of the bed and search for your clothes. Everything was folded neatly on the chair next to a lamp. Thankfully your phone was still in your pants pocket with 20% battery life and about ten messages from your friends asking how you tonight had gone. You dressed quickly and made your way out of the bedroom. Once you were out of the room you could smell coffee and hear movement in the kitchen. You walked down the hallway and found yourself standing in the living room. “You’re awake.” A voice called from your left. You turned to see John standing in his kitchen shirtless smiling at you softly. “Yeah, I figured I’d worn out my welcome.” You rushed, feeling only slightly embarrassed at being caught. “Oh sweetheart, you haven’t worn anything out. I think I might have worn you out last night though.” John remarked with a gleam in his eyes. Heat flushed your cheeks and ears as you opened and closed your mouth, at a loss for words. A dark chuckle rumbled through John’s chest as he made his way to where you stood. “Don’t be shy now love.” John caressed your cheek gently as he peered down into your eyes. The urge to close your eyes and lean into his hand was so strong, but you just stood and stared at him. Your heart thudded in your chest quickly. “Come on, I made us breakfast.” He dropped his hand from your face and turned back to the kitchen. 

You waffled between trying to make a break for the door and sitting down at the kitchen table. You watched John start to make two plates, before you finally walked into the kitchen with a small huff of resignation. You really liked John a lot. He seemed like a good guy, but he was career military and you were under the impression he wasn’t exactly looking for more than a fling. While you didn’t regret having sex with him, because truthfully it had been the best sex you’d ever had, you didn’t really want a situationship.

John pulled a cup out of a cabinet and turned to you. “How do you take your coffee?” He asked turning to the refrigerator. “John, this really isn’t necessary.” He turned back to you with a frown tugging at his eyebrows. “Do you prefer tea? Let me put the kettle on.” He said turning back away from you. “No. John. I mean all of this. You don’t have to feed me. I’d rather not draw this goodbye out longer than needed.” You blurted out. John took a step towards you. “What are you going on about?” He questioned with an unreadable expression. You took an uneasy step back. “T-this,” you stammered. “Who does this for a one night stand?” The edge of the table pressed into the back of your thighs. You realized then you’d been backing away from John and was now stuck between him and the kitchen table. “One night stand? Is that what you think this is?” John crossed his arms over his chest.Your eyes flickered down to take in the way his arms bulged across his hairy chest. When you meet his eyes they had a knowing gleam to them. “I mean I’d like to see you again, but I figured that with your job you wouldn’t want to.” You sputtered feeling like you were being scolded somehow. John grabbed your hand gently and brought it to his lips before softly kissing each of your knuckles. “I might have gone about things out of order, but I very much want take you out on a proper date and get to know you better. I know me being in the military isn’t ideal, but I want to try if you’re willing.” He declared staring into your eyes. His words surprised you and you couldn’t help the goofy grin that formed on your lips. “I’d like that very much actually.” You breathed out. “Good.” John mumbling staring at your lips as he leaned into your space. Your eyes fluttered shut when his lips pressed against yours delicately. John’s tongue ran along the seam of your lips. You pulled back. “John, I have really bad morning breath.” You tried to deter him. “I don’t care.” He growled before capturing your lips again. A whimper escaped your throat and John took the opportunity to tangle his tongue with yours. Your hands come up to his chest to ground yourself. The steady thump of his heart pulses where your hands rest. His hands rested on your hips as he pressed against you. You could feel his length harden when he wedged himself against you. You pull back to catch your breath. John took the opportunity to trail kisses along you jawline and neck. Before things could get more heated, your stomach takes the opportunity to voice its discomfort. John pulls back and lets out a bark of a laugh. “I suppose I should feed you first.” He says pulling a chair out for you to sit down in. “Now then sweetheart, how do you take your coffee?” 

[gazstations]

Come Home, My Darling

CHAPTER SIX

ᯓᡣ𐭩 CHAPTER SUMMARY

141 interrogates Rojas to find a lead on Makarov. John makes a major decision.

♡ Chapter Warnings: Torture, loss of limbs, John loses his shit.

◇ Notes: It took me a bit, but guys, I made it. I like this chapter for what it sets up hehe. Pls, let me know your thoughts. I love interacting with you guys.

Guys, I translated the Portuguese. If it's wrong, i'm sorry. I'm trying my best.

○●○ SERIES MASTERLIST ♡ PREV ♡ NEXT

NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

THE DOGS WERE FREE.

They snarled with drool secreting from their maws. Their fangs were itching to embed themselves into pliable flesh. Their jaws were strong enough to snap through bone if they had to. Nothing stopped the hunger once it ran rampant. Humans were no different than four-legged animals in the end. There was always a primal instinct to dominate.

They had hauled Rojas into one of the rooms back at the temporary headquarters for their people. The man was stone faced and indifferent as Soap shoved him forward and into a kneeling position. The Scot was salivating in pride as Gaz marched forward and secured their captive with zipties.

There was a small quirk of Rojas’ eyebrow to show Gaz pulled the ties far too tight.

Price lingered in front of the man, crossed arms giving off more of an impression of leisure than tenseness. Though, the captain was filled with bitter anticipation. Right now, Rojas was their only lead for Makarov, and Price craved the information he knew the bastard had.

Rojas offered a cruel, mocking grin as he observed Price. “You must be desperate,” he mused, eyes catching the little light and glinting. “Running after a ghost. How lucky of me to have 141 finally sniff me out.”

Price clenched his jaw, annoyance and impatience brewing in his belly. The anticipation was like acid climbing up the walls of his stomach and out through his esophagus. He couldn't deny Rojas was right. Desperation was messing with his synapses and tunneling his vision.

He needed answers.

Price leaned forward, clicking his tongue as his steely blue eyes criticized Rojas carefully. He was analyzing every divot and molding to find a weakness.

“Unless you want to be hung from the ceiling, I suggest you give me the answers I want,” Price seethed. His hands clenched at his side as he tried to keep his composure. But when his family's life was on the line, he found himself busting at the seams quicker.

“I don't fear death, Captain Price,” Rojas mused. “Not like you. I do not bark because you ask for it.”

“Ghost…” Price prompted, and his second-in-command came forth with pliers.

You would hate him if you discovered the putrid malice that was born from his fingertips. The same fingertips that traced your skin so lovingly. He always had an inclination towards violence, but he had a hungered greed as well. He took from you and this world selfishly. One way or another, the other shoe dropped. One day, you'd see him for what he was: a grotesque devil in disguise. Until that day, however, he'd just keep bidding time.

Price's eyes flickered towards his two sergeants, eyes analyzing the quirks in their brows. He didn't offer sympathy nor consideration, but for them, he needed to ensure he had who he needed behind him willingly. He couldn't have skittish hands holding his back up.

“You two in or out?” He asked bluntly.

“In, cap,” Soap's tongue was quick in its answering. Good lad. Always knew he liked getting dirtied.

“I'm with you,” Gaz echoed a moment later. His face was set with determination and resolve. It reminded the captain of when he first plucked him off the streets in Piccadilly. The blood lust that frothed in his mouth as he searched for a better, more effective way to stop the enemy.

“Good…” he said before his attention went back to Rojas. The man was full of calm demeanor, even as Ghost lined up the pliers to his left pinkie finger. “Reckon you need your fingers.”

Rojas chuckled dryly, “You disguise yourself as the hero, but you are no more than a vira-lata.”

“Never said I was good,” Price declared. He leaned forward, scruffing the back of Rojas’ head. The man in the chair hissed as his head was pulled back. “What shipment do you have scheduled later?”

“Comer merda.”

Ghost drew the handles of the pliers together and let the metal bite into Rojas’ flesh. Price could almost feel the give of the flesh and bone as he watched. They were clean and effective, doing the job they were supposed to. Price almost regretted not letting the pliers be duller, making the lesson really stick inside Rojas’ head.

Rojas groaned, gritting his teeth as the tip of his pinkie finger was cut clean off where the cuticle met the skin. Splitle flew from his clamped shut lips as he tried not to react too much. He was trying to appear stronger than he actually was.

Price gripped the back of Rojas’ head tighter and forced his head back even more. Rojas’ face turned red from holding back his reactions, especially as his remaining pinkie rested there, bleeding quite a lot.

“Listen here, you bloody shite. We can keep going until you can’t even wank. Or, you can be a good boy and tell us what we want to know." Price seethed.

He was fully untethered now, humanity the last thing on his mind. He had to get you and the kids back. That's all that cycled throughout his brain. An endless loop of longing that made him stir crazy. Phlegm built up in his throat, and he almost had half the mind to spit it at Rojas' ugly mug.

He held back as if that was the worst thing he could actually do.

“I already told you, captain. I don't bark just because you ordered it,” Rojas said through gritted teeth.

Price exchanged one glance with Ghost, the Lieutenant nodding once more as he moved on to the next finger. Rojas’ yells echoed throughout the room a second later as he instinctively tried to pull back from the snapping jaws of the pliers.

“Malditos cães!” Rojas snapped. “Espero que você arda no inferno!”

“Haud yer weesht!” Soap fired back.

His arms were crossed over his chest as he and Gaz stood behind Rojas. Looming dogs ready for their orders from their captain. All his men were coiled tight, muscles twitching in anticipation as they were ready to attack. Price wasn't sure if it was good or bad that he had such loyal companions.

“John!”

Kate Laswell appeared through the curtain, stress adorning her face. She looked appalled as she took in the scene. Price's teeth were still barred, ready to ask his next barrage of questions.

“This is not what we do,” Kate declared as she came to a stop in front of Price, blocking him from Rojas. Ghost took a step back as well, tilting his head slightly. The bloody pliers were still gripped tightly in his hand.

“We need information, Kate,” Price dug himself into his hole, not keen on admitting defeat so easily. He was still ridged, and his muscles were spasming as he glared at Rojas.

“Not like this…” Kate stated. She looked Price in the eyes, narrowing her own as she analyzed him. “You said it wouldn't get personal. You promised.”

“Well, I'm a bloody liar then, eh?” Price deadpanned, shifting on the balls of his feet as he gripped at the straps of his tactical vest.

Kate pressed her lips into a firm line. He knew he fucked up in her mind. Yet, she didn't see it the way he did. There was only one way to get the information he needed from these mutts. He had to play the game to make them squeal.

“I am so close to taking you off this mission,” Kate warned.

“You need me,” Price reminded her bitterly.

Kate was probably one of the only ones he could snarl at and not flinch. Even as he stood up taller and glared down at her, she was unflinching as she stared right back.

“I need you civil, John. Not whatever this is,” Kate stated calmly, though her tone was bordering on unraveling.

There was a low laugh from the floor, Rojas's shoulders shaking. Price gazed down at him with thick annoyance as his jaw clenched. What he wouldn't give just to put a bullet right between his eyes. Unfortunately, they still needed the information he had.

“What's so funny?” Ghost seethed. He circled around Rojas, eyes the only giveaway to how he felt underneath the mask.

“Makarov already has your whore’s scent,” Rojas looked directly at Price with sick satisfaction. “And he doesn't play favorites. Reckon the next time you see your precious family, they'll all be in small pieces.”

Price saw red.

The dog was in fight mode now, spit flying from his mouth as he hoisted Rojas up in one swoop and slammed him against the wall. The Brazilian man grunted out as his lungs seized, but he composed himself as best as he could.

“John!”

Kate's voice was background noise at that point. Price wasn't here to play games anymore. He grabbed Rojas' severed fingers and watched the man squirm. He was pathetic. Couldn't run from a little minor ache.

“Say that again,” Price growled. He was shaking from the force of the fury that had consumed him.

His mind was unraveling with different emotions. He wanted to gut Rojas like a pig and watch him bleed out on the dusty floor. Left out for the rats he had already seen scurrying by once or twice. Then, he was overwhelmed by the protectiveness over Rojas' small, pointed comment towards you. On the other end, there was the part that was actually worried that Makarov already knew where you and the kids were.

He didn't want to believe it.

Because that meant he failed you.

Ghost finally thought better than to encourage this, and he pulled Price's snapping jaws from Rojas’ form. Gaz was immediately on the captive man, making him stand upright. Soap just stood and watched the whole scene play out.

“Kyle, take him to General Lahey. His men will watch him for now. Since this team obviously can't be patient,” Kate ordered sternly.

Gaz obeyed easily, giving Price a sympathetic look before forcing Rojas out the door. The man didn't fight the sergeant as he went, but he did send a wicked smile towards Price. That almost sent the captain spiraling again.

“You are going to take a break,” Kate turned to Price. “Decide what you make more of a priority.”

Price didn't have the capacity to argue at that moment. He sighed heavily, patting down his pockets to ensure he had one of his cigars. He cleared his throat before he wordlessly left the room.

♡◇♡

“I think you’re balding, sir.”

Price groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He plopped his boonie hat back onto his head, suddenly self-conscious. He blew out a plume of smoke, nicotine dying on his tongue as he coughed slightly.

“Piss off, Gaz.”

Gaz smiled coyly as he plopped down next to him. His gear was off now, revealing the blue button-up underneath. Price side eyed him for a moment, debating whether he told Gaz to really leave him alone or just accept the company.

He was beyond stressed. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Rojas said. Was your damnation already set in stone? Would he only see you again as a mutilated body hidden away in some wretched body bag? His heart was beating far too fast to be considered healthy.

If he lost you or either of the kids, he would put the gun to his temple. Maybe that was cowardly, but it was truly how he felt. He couldn’t live as a widower or a man that lost his kids—whatever the name for that was. It would ruin him.

“You think he’s telling the truth?” Gaz asked. Bloody hell, he was going to make Price address it out loud? Fuck.

“Fucking better not be,” Price muttered. He still wanted to find the bastard and wring his neck.

“They’ll be back home soon, cap,” Gaz said, clapping an awkward hand against his back. It was a mirrored gesture to how Price always interacted with him. A sense of familiarity.

“Unharmed?” Price asked sternly.

Gaz looked away. “Don’t think like that.”

Price scoffed. Why wouldn’t he? A bloody papercut could harm you at this point, and he would blame himself. Maybe at another point he’d believe your safe return, but this was Makarov. A man who put blood money into underground trafficking rings and weapon production. He didn’t blink an eye when he killed a random child in one of his terrorist attacks. So why would he not take the chance to harm three innocent souls attached to him?

“I think he’s riling you up,” Gaz spoke after a moment of silence.

Price shook his head. “I think they know more than we do.”

Gaz blinked at him, obviously not having the words to reply. Price ashed his cigar and ran a hand over his face. He was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to skip to the good part of this whole situation.

He needed to hold your lively, soft body in his arms again.

“Think I should let Ghost start taking the lead in things,” Price remarked.

“Why?” Gaz asked.

“Because if I get my missus and our kids back, I’m bloody retiring.”

Gaz was taken aback. Everyone who knew Price knew he was dedicated to his job. Even when he got married and had babies, he prioritized his career far too much.

The last fight with you rang in his head on a cycle, tormenting him into insanity. It was an echo that haunted him. If he had just given you what you wanted and made up his mind back then, you wouldn’t be sent off with no hope. The only thing you had to cling to right now were the kids.

Not your sorry excuse of a husband who made excuses and promises he couldn’t keep. Over and over.

He wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted nothing to do with him after this. But he hoped to god you gave him the chance to retire and never break your heart again.

“Think Ghost would want to be captain?” Gaz wondered.

Price shrugged. “Doubt it. He's rejected the promotion a few times before. Though, he's the only one who I trust to lead 141.”

Gaz nodded in agreement. It was a major deal, Price coming to this conclusion. It wasn't an easy decision. Price really had his shit rocked for him to consider remotely leaving the military.

He always wanted to see your face in the morning and see his kids grow up. He couldn't guarantee he'd return every deployment he was on. He realized now how selfish that was.

Maybe he'd get a third baby in you after all of this as well.

“I got your back, sir,” Gaz promised.

“I know that, sergeant. You always do.”

°•○●○•°

TAGLIST

@callsignpxnguin @crystal-freak24 @haneybunny @tenshis-cake @aneternallyexhaustedpigeon @thriving-n-jiving @leon-thot-kennedy @queen-of-bad-ideas @shhitskinkytime

If you would like to be added for future chapters, let me know!

[saturna625]

I wanna think about storm chaser!reader and tf141????? (yes, I used to live in tornado valley. I know some of this is unrealistic but I'll make it real enough)

Like maybe Johnny, who watches these absolutely wild YouTubers who chase these massive storms ("Gaz, honestly, take a look at these fuckin' clouds! All spinny an' shit!") And maybe you're the weather predictor, who coaches from the passenger seat as the truck weaves through corn fields, unaware of tf141 within the comment section.

TF141, of course, meaning Twister Force 141, a bit of a nickname for their little weather research team.

Maybe they get so invested that Price pulls a couple strings, and gets satellite view, so the boys can watch both you and the weather live.

Maybe you get a little too close to the tornado, as the county sirens blare in the background, and your audio shorts out. Maybe the boys are on the edges of their seats, seeing you speed headfirst into a storm that is building quicker than your ten dollar weather app can process.

You're too deep in a quick growing storm. None of your tech is working, and you're strapping yourself into your seat, looking over at your best friend who's driving. You don't even know if the camera's still rolling. The wind howls outside, screams so loud you can't even hear yourself yell.

Maybe you hear a gruff voice through your staticky radio, as you see, well, what used to be a barn, crash down in front of you, before disappearing into the murk and dust.

"Throw it into reverse, you muppets!"

Your friend slams on his breaks, and kicks the truck into reverse. You fly backwards as the cameras on your dashboard blink red and green. You're driving blind, and the monster is only growing. A stop sign takes your side mirror clean off, and embeds itself into a tree.

Your friend cuts to the left, turning yall around, and throws it into forward as you build speed, trying to outrun it.

With dawning horror, the team puts together a shoddy storm projection. You won't outrun it.

You, however, have decided to ditch the harness. The haunting sound of a twister, groaning as it builds, lunching towards you. It pulls the roof off a house. A tree flies towards you, and your buddy swerves to avoid it, as you scramble into the back seat.

Soap is so used to watching amateurs outrun tiny squalls, little touchdowns of dust and air, but this thing was processing as E-4.

And you were no amateur.

You call to your buddy to cut left, and drive under the overpass. You're not stopping there. Everyone knows that overpasses are the worst place to be.

You think, somewhere in the dust and wind and debris, that you see a truck pulling a trailer of barrels, but it had overturned. You hoped it's owners were lucky enough to get somewhere safe.

It gets sucked into the storm, and disappears. The sky is swirling black above you, a nightmarish mixture of ink and debris. The truck skids on the pavement, your friend juts off road, as foreign voices coached you out of the storm.

But they were wrong. They're telling him to keep driving forward.

You see the wind shift, in the rolling, whipping grass. The pressure drops, and your ears pop. You stop your commentators explanation to gaze open-mouthed at the sky above you.

"There's.... There's gonna be another one!" You shout at your friend, who seems to pale at your words. "That's good! It'll take the pressure away from that mother over there–" you point. Rain pelts the windshield, but he can make out the shift in the clouds. "They'll fight it out and dissipate! We'll just- I can't fucking see- stop!" You shout, as a house crashes down directly in front of you, but it's too late.

The nose of the truck goes through where the roof had been, burying itself near the chimney. You fly forward and hit the seat in front of you. You think your head knocks against some camera equipment, and the wind howls again, before it all goes dark.

When you come to, you're able to hear the sirens again. The scratchy panic of the radio fills in the rest of the sound, different groups of chasers trying to figure out what the hell they're doing. You no longer hear that European group, though. Maybe you thought it up.

What you didn't know was that, ten miles away, hunkered in the safety of a low level parking garage, the boys cramped around the screen as they watch you pull yourself out of the car. In the unfocused lense, they can tell that you might bruise pretty rough. But in the background, they see the second twister come into view. It's half a mile off, battling out the Mother, as you called it, before suddenly, they both draw back up into the sky, dancing around one another, and then they're gone.

The tornado sirens go out shortly after that, and they hear rain, and thunder, and you– whooping and cheering, and scrambling to find an intact camera.

You thank the audience as your friend joins you at your side. He's probably going to quit after this, you can tell by the look on his face. He was never one for weather anyways.

But it didn't matter. You were usually the driver anyhow.

Simon looks at Price, who looks down at Soap, sketching out the projections, and Gaz, writing all the data down in his uber fancy composition notebook. The livestream ends.

And who knows, there's a ton of storm chasers in town this season. Maybe someone had some people to spare.

(pt2?)

[captainjamster]

i absolutely love your underrepresented works!! i think it is so so important for everyone to be able to read something and be able to identify with it!

if you’re still looking for ideas, i’d love to see ftm!reader who uses any terms for their genitalia w anyone!! (totally understandable if not <33)

thank u so freakin much!! u vibe w exactly how i feel - there's always more to write, i wish everyone had smth that represented them directly - without relying on generalisations! this inspired me to start a price x reader who uses any terms so that is now coming out at some point too (if it escapes my 76 other drafts it lives with lol)

Pairing(s): 141 x FtM!Reader w/ no pronouns, chest surgery and bottom growth/t-dick after being on testosterone Warnings: Vaginal sex, creampies, slight objectification (from Soap of course) Wordcount: 1.3k Summary: How the boys react and refer to FtM!reader's genitalia in absence of their preferences. AO3 Link: Right here! <3

Gaz always asks what you want your genitals to be referred as on the day, even if the response is “whatever you want”. Though he doesn’t particularly care what you’d like him to call it, he cares whether you’re comfortable and if he’s making you feel good not just physically, but mentally too. It’s common of him to peer up at you from between your thighs, lips pressed against them as he trails up them in kisses, mumbling a “what ‘m I workin’ with today, baby?”

Kyle loves going down on you – he spends most of his time there unwinding from deployment, weighed down by the thickness of your thighs and centred by the noises he’s pulling from you with every movement of his tongue.

“Y’want me to suck your cock?” He purrs, watching your hole flutter around nothing at the closeness of his mouth. Your thighs are as slick as between them, wet with his spit and darkened marks that dot constellations across them.

He lavishes your cock, running his tongue along the underside of your glistening clit, tracing the folds and chasing after you as your hips buck in oversensitivity.

“Please, please suck my cock, need it so bad,” he has you chanting, fingers threaded between the thick curls of his hair as you try to tug him closer. You’re worked masterfully to the edge by fingers that know their way around like it’s home, nestled inside your cunt as they rub meticulously against the soft, ribbed grooves of the most sensitive walls, the others working with his tongue to wind up that need in your stomach tighter and tighter.

“Whose pussy is this, huh baby?” He growls after a broad stripe against your heat, flicking his tongue teasingly against the overstimulated nerve. Your cries of his name are rewarded with a hot, wet mouth enveloping your cock, tracing circles at the base teasingly.

“Who gets to take care of this cock?”

The same answer is your respite; you know he just wants to hear the admission again. It’s rewarded with the smooth curls of his fingers as his mouth recaptures your clit, and he has you falling apart in his hands.

-----

Soap’s favourite term for your genitalia is “his hole” or “his toy”, depending on what part he’s giving attention - the man doesn’t care about anatomical reference, because he doesn’t use ‘em. You can call your genitals whatever the fuck you want, as long as it’s his mouth on them at the end of the day.

There’s not a single thing that’ll keep Johnny from between your legs. He’ll get through the front door, dropping everything just to shuffle up behind you, arms wrapping around your waist as his teeth find their favourite spot to sink in your shoulder. “Missed m’toy, y’been good today? Taken care of ‘em for me?”

He’ll beg you to let him check his babies - he whines, petulant and needy, grinding the growing hardness against your ass to emphasise his point. “C’mon lass, lemme see m’hole - cannae keep me away from m’pet, dinnae y’were so cruel!”

When you finally give in, spreading your legs for him as he hurriedly tugs your underwear off, his response is almost embarrassing despite how long he’s been doing it. Johnny drops to his knees, cooing at the swollen nub that peaks out from your slick-shined folds, like the goddamn thing missed him – though with the way it throbs at his words, maybe he’s not entirely far off.

It isn’t long before his fingers are tracing along the wet skin, occasionally brought back to his mouth to lick up the mess he captures before returning to the same movements, petting the skin as he mumbles praises and appreciation. “Bonnie thing, all needy for me, aye?”

His check starts out as innocent as such a situation could – caresses that aren’t meant to stir the flame slowly burning between your loins, but to admire between your legs. Yet you can’t stop your body from reacting to the stimulation, and he can’t stop his body reacting to you. You both know where it’s going – a check is never a check, because Johnny can’t hold himself back. But every time, you end up bent over with him filling you up anyway.

-----

Ghost just uses whatever falls from his lips, delivered by his lust-addled brain. You don’t care, he doesn’t care – it’s perfect. His usage is based on what he’s doing to you; he’ll tell you how sweet your tight little pussy is around him as he pushes your head down into the pillow, or how good your cock feels against his as he grinds the tip up against your swollen, sensitive clit, engorged with growth from your testosterone.

“Gonna cum in this gorgeous fuckin’ twat”, he huffs against the crook of your neck, “gonna play with that prick ‘n make you cum too.”

His hands run over the scarring of your chest, running parallels with those decorating his skin, scars against scars that you hope will tangle your lives together until they decay. One of them drops lower, seeking out the pulsating need between your legs, his big fingers finding your cock and rubbing circles against the head.

“Such a good bloody pet, lettin’ me ruin you.” Ghost’s dick pries you open, bulging forcefully against your walls with each thrust, fucking you closer and closer to seeing stars. The desire within you reaches a crescendo of gasps and moans that Simon captures with his lips, muffling them amongst his own as he brings you to pieces.

His favourite way to cum is pulling out right on the edge, wrapping a calloused hand around his shaft to pump it roughly, to rub the tip against your own until it spurts thick, white cum. He spends the comedown telling you how good it looks covered in his cum, lapping it up until his cock has stiffened enough for another round.

-----

Price, in my mind, is absolutely filthy with the terms he uses. He’s suggesting things that make you wonder just what the fuck he does in his free time – “hey doll, have you heard bussy before?”

He sees your lack of preference and raises the opportunity to explore; why not fuck around and find out? It’s almost a game for him – two fingers deep in your cunt, muttering terms against the flushed heat of your thighs, feeling how you flutter in response to each one.

He particularly likes boycunt and girldick when he stumbles across them; the contrary combination of two terms designed to capture and enforce those binary confines is both exciting and satisfying to him. Some of them make him cringe – sorry, princess wand – but ultimately, he’s just trying to find something you like being called.

“Needed a good fuckin’ – ah, shit – shag this week.” His breath fans over the sweat-slicked skin of your shoulder, kissing the bitemarks one of the boys have left. “Sick o’ these fuckin’ muppets, jus’ need my good little lamb to make me feel better, huh?”

You’re tired, sore and sleepy from the orgasms he’s already pulled out of you, but the vocalisation of his need still ignites weak sparks of lust that have you fluttering around him as you mewl in compliance. You preen under his need and praise as he ruts into you, hands roaming across your body. “Gonna let me cum in you, love? Fill up this hole?”

The whines and whimpers of encouragement you emit are his fuel, growling as he builds up a slow pace again. “Such a nice, hot boypussy just to keep me wet, yeah? Made just for warming my cock.”

He mumbles filth between each needy thrust, hips flush with your ass each time he sinks back into you, and the repetitive contrast of full to almost empty as his head notches against your entrance is overwhelming. “Lemme rub that girldick, c’mon baby, let me make y’feel good.”

You’re so close that just a few touches have you crumbling, spasming around his length as he curses, forehead buried against your shoulder while he follows suit. John’s favourite part of sex is this bit – curled up, sweaty and panting, whispering praise against your skin until you’re ready to go again.

headers and dividers from saradika-graphics

[just-another-star-47]

Scents 🌹

How does each and every person in Hogwarts smell?

Slytherin edition 🐍

Plonbraw edition (OCs) • Gryffindor edition • Hufflepuff edition • Ravenclaw edition

Sebastian 🦊

Its own odour tickles the nose like warm, damp earth on a walk after the first drops of rain have touched the ground. It envelops without being intrusive and awakens an indefinite anticipation of more whenever dark clouds gather in the sky.

He was and is often responsible for the fieldwork at Feldcroft, sometimes voluntarily, sometimes to escape the house and Solomon. To soften the traces of hard labour, he uses a nourishing balm for his hands, the delicate smell of chamomile and marigold accompanies him even into the castle walls at Hogwarts, as his rough hands are often seen by him as very unpleasant. He also takes care of the rest of his appearance, regularly buying hair gel in Hogsmeade to tame his slightly curly hair, the delicate smell of yang-yang is the result, mixed with the rose of his hair soap.

However, the slightly sweet note of his care products does not make the soft woody odour of his skin disappear, but rather embeds it in a sweetish warmth.

Anne 🐈

A field full of flowers in May, surrounded by the light tartness of the strawy grass - the nose can't miss it and makes anyone passing by think of cheeky children's pranks on balmy summer days.

Anne doesn't use perfume per se, but perfumed soap, in memory of her mother, with whom she associates the smell. The delicate scent of violets blends wonderfully with her own floral scent and is more restrained than overpowering. The soap is one of the few luxuries that Solomon allows and eventually buys himself, ignoring the objections of Sebastian, who was previously responsible for buying it and had often helped out in the neighbours' fields in Feldcroft to earn the necessary money.

The moment Anne's spring-like odour was replaced by the stench of medicines and hospitals was the moment when hopelessness sank its claws into the siblings' minds - the delicate smell of violets now strangely alien and a mere, sad reminder of days long forgotten.

Ominis 🐇

Fresh and cool, like the smell on a path that leads through a dense forest, where you have lost your way and yet feel only security. Ominis has a fine nose and therefore refrains from using any perfumed products - they only make him feel woozy or give him a headache. Nevertheless, the smell of cleanliness always clings to him, which seems almost minty. To escape the clammy smell of the Slytherin rooms, he stores his clothes between bags filled with lavender, which adds a hint of flavour to his watery inherent odour. In addition, the purple flower helps him against his restless states, which always afflict him.

Imelda 🐍

She spends most of her time in the air, Quidditch training not only a part of her that is ingrained in her blood, but that also affects her scent.

Leathery like a well-groomed Quaffle, slightly tart and spicy, the smell of the salty coastal wind of her home village never quite fades.

Imelda wears a perfume that her brothers gave her for her birthday - a slightly smoky note with a splash of invigorating lemon and exotic vanilla.

[c98sancturary]

taylor swift debut album soap with teardrop embeds F2U with source

[clnclm]

[catandravendesigns]

Coming this Friday August 27th at 8am PST, the Stardew Valley inspired collection of bar soaps is nearly here!

Today's final bars are:

Sebastian

Scent: Bergamot Black Tea. Described as notes of bergamot, lime, earl grey tea leaves, cucumber, beeswax, amber, and musk.

Ingredients: olive oil, rice bran oil, coconut oil, palm oil (RSPO), sodium hydroxide, almond oil, castor oil, canola oil, sodium lactate, cocoa butter, shea butter, fragrance, micas, and biodegradable glitter.

2am Bedtime

Scent: Lemon Verbena. Described as notes of citrus and sugar bolster a heart of lemon verbena and lemongrass.

Ingredients: olive oil, rice bran oil, coconut oil, palm oil (RSPO), sodium hydroxide, almond oil, castor oil, cocoa butter, shea butter, melt &amp; pour embeds, sodium lactate, fragrance, micas, and biodegradable glitter.

[asksoldieron]

S0-33: Oops, We Did a Cielois.

If there's a lot of engagement on this, this post is liable to get real long, beware before you expand.

More art to come, I hope, but that's where they are and where they're headed!

Welcome to the Engagement Lounge, for Welcome to Farsia (262|33) an instalment! Short comments can go in the replies, but there's a 475 character limit. Longer ones will need a reblog. Remember to @asksoldieron if you're reblogging someone else's reblog, so I can see it too!

Oooh, we got a lot of goodies for this one. Look! I edited the map for you! And now let me deal with the obscure reference!

I like Black Butler, even the second anime season, and I don't mean the ship, I mean THIS:

Heh. Decisions were made. But, what happened there, because reasons, is a demon took two people with similar experiences and scrambled them together for a snack.

Mordecai has just accidentally scrambled Erik's experience of being sicker than a dog in a bathtub with ice (see here) and his memory of Alba's experience (see here). And now Erik has no idea he almost died calling gods. They aren't in contact with the Rainbows and they don't have John's notes. David sure ain't gonna tell 'em. This little misunderstanding is not going to get cleared up for quite some time! But I'm sure it'll be fine.

And we got a little musical scene! I'm parodying The Music Man. Harold Hill arrives in Iowa and is perfectly nice to everyone, but they're not nice to him. Maggie arrives in Zadrakarta and does the opposite. I quit embedding YouTube at the site due to ads - those are a real mood-killer, but I'll embed the reference here.

If you want the melody to sing, there it is. If you want the whole movie (and you should!) it's on Archive.org at the moment!

Maggie's gone a bit Soap Box Sadie and made some people uncomfortable without doing much to improve the general situation. Given that she's sided firmly with Zanzamin, I can't expect her to keep a lid on it, but going off on a low-level idiot doing his job only scares him and frustrates you. Not unlike her mother screaming at everyone who thinks a solitary lady in glasses could use some help with her bags.

But she helped me with the world-building! Yay! There's more than one way to deal with a magic storm, and this isn't the only one we're going to see on this trip. I really hope it's not a frustrating, exposition-heavy diversion from the plot you're expecting. I'm trying to keep it fun! I was hoping to get them home faster than this, but there are one or two things they need to do outside of San Rosille. I think they'll be home by the end of Volume 14. I hope. I have no idea how long it's gonna take to write and put it up, but I'm aiming for two more six-packs on the road and then HOME.

I updated the Setting page for Farsia, and they'll only be there for 2 instalments, so grab that now while it's relevant! (And I'll probably post it on the main blog. I'm proud of myself.) Farsia would love to get involved in that nasty business in Prokovia, and vacuum up ALL the refugees, but they'd need evidence and Erik's little group has none. For now.

Erik will be taking care of some significant (I swear!) business in the next one, which is going up near his birthday and mine - although it's springtime in Zadrakarta. Then it's off to Zanzamin! Farsia's fun but we have a lot more to do in Zanzamin! Have a happy holiday and I'll see you there!

[ulvenblod]

As much as we love WBS it's time to start Spooky Season. We teamed up with our kids to create an exclusive line of 3 soaps to showcase something a little different! They're all topped with cold processed soap embeds, in theme with each brand new bar.

Ghost Town is a blend of Orange and Lavender.

Howl-O-Ween created by A is scented with Orange, Tangerine, Cinnamon, and Nutmeg.

I Want Your Skull created by S is scented with Orange, Frankincense, and Sage

This trio is available for pre-order for $25, and is in limited supply. Available October 1st. DM to claim.

@grumpy-the-repentant

[oldgayjew]

And so ... as another donation to America's enemies embeds itself in Africa ...

... we bid farewell to another disastrous week in the "What-me worry" soap opera that the ChinaJoe/Nazicrat Regime has become ...

A Sabbath is here to temporarily relieve us of the shit storm of stress and anguish of reality ...

May you all find rest, relaxation and worry-free relief in GOD's strong, peaceful loving arms ...

Peace - Shalom - Salaam

[wheneclipsefalls]

i now got a ton more questions for the little gift reader, was she a scientist? a soldier? what about reader made netayem fall for her? what happened to jake and neytiri? are they alive still? what about his sisters? does netayem see reader as his mate or just a pet? is anyone against netayem holding reader hostage?!!!! does he want kids with reader in the future? does he even let reader take a bath? i know she stinks after being held hostage by him for a few days. so many questions!!!

So sorry this took me a while to come back to and respond. Love that you are so curious about the little details<3 Can't promise I will answer all the questions but here are some tid bits of info to help.

-She is not a scientist but more so involved with helping in the tech realm. Nothing super high up, just some traditional IT

-Neteyam was captivated by reader the moment he saw her on accident during her little nature walks. He loved the way she seemed so delighted by every simple wonder she could find in the forest. He never planned to fall for her but constantly found himself coming back to watch every day at the same time. Of course someone had to keep her from getting eaten, or at least that is what he told himself at first. When fascination grew into obsession he couldn't ignore the truth any longer. She was meant to be his. Surely her love for Pandora's forest and her kind nature could only mean she was created by Eywa herself. And what other reason would the Great Mother have to create such a beautiful creature to cross his path if not to serve the Omatikaya Olo'eyktan? After all, he deserves a reward after sacrificing so much.

-The clan members know better than to go against their Olo'eyktan, especially with the way he fawns over reader. Some view his possession of reader as mercy for a Sky Demon while others that disagree have enough self preservation to not interfere. Besides, Neteyam is extraodinary at telling the story from his perspective, of how he saved a poor fragile human from the grips of the RDA's metal cage. He should be praised for having such compassion on a creature like you.

-Reader has had more baths in the past week than she cares for. It wouldn't be such an issue if it weren't for the way Neteyam insists on you bating together in the hot springs. No matter the argument you have tried to put up, Neteyam has always claimed that it would be negligent of him to not watch over his fragile pet as she bathes. And even more unpleasent to beseech your requests to skip it all togethr when he begins trying to strip you down. He prefers his little gift to be clean and soft for him. Maybe even sneak in the same cleansing soaps he uses so his scent embeds itself even deeper in your soft skin. He can't have any confusion on his claim after all.