price please domesticate me

HI EVERYONE!!! my name is rommy (sounds like rawme lol) and I use he/him and it/its pronouns pls. Im an aroace trans guy in practice, but in fiction i do love my men <3 :] im chronically obsessed with the 141, and my main content is hybrid posts, smut, and deaddove! I really try my best to answer asks, but it can be difficult, so please have some grace!

Feel free to use my stuff as inspiration! Pls tag me if u post it!!

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Old man price never knew how bad he had it with these younger partners until he met you :)

He's used to the teasing comments about his age, used to the quiet aches and pains in his body while his most recent partner is already up and ready for a morning repeat. They get off on it, but he's always left a bit worn afterwards.

Not with you.

You genuinely laugh the first time he tries to kneel on the floor for you, standing up to fetch an expensive kneeling cushion because "I'm not having you tap out on me because of knee pain, baby."

Price genuinely starts picking out wedding bands in his head when, after thoroughly wearing him out, you offer him a heat pad for his aching back. Both of you soaking in a warm bath afterwards, lavender Epsom salt sprinkled in.

Price only mildly dies of embarrassment when he's trying to fuck you over the kitchen counter and his knee locks up. Because you just laugh all fond and sweet and reassure "it's okay, sweetie, why don't we get you a knee brace and finish this in bed, hm?"

Yeah. There's no way price is going back to those young partners.

What's better, Chocolate cake or Lemon drizzle cake

Guys i cannot make this shit up i just ate an entire lemon drizzle cake over the course of a few days i love it sm holy shit guys.

I would kill for lemon drizzle cake. I would sell me soul for it. I fucking love it.

You've always left afterwards, skin crawling at the homely feeling between the two of them. Disgusted by how much you wanted it. They never chase after you, it took gaz years to feel okay settling in with ghost.

But this time, this time you stay.

You bask in the warmth of ghosts body while gaz takes the first shower. According to ghost he needs space for himself, too. Ghost invites you to shower with him, soft and sweet while gaz lingers just in the doorway, clingy.

You all climb into a fresh bed that you hadn't even noticed ghost changed. Ghost, you find out, runs extremely hot while Kyle's feet are always cold.

In the morning, you'll wake up somehow on the other side of the bed with Gaz's elbow digging into your kidney. Ghosts spot vacant, but there's sound coming from the kitchen.

This, too, is ghosts form of taking care.

Only halfway through a sleepy breakfast does it occur to you how easily you've slipped into this...whatever it is. How just staying the night turned into breakfast and simply existing in the same space as your...maybe partners.

"Are you bleedin'?" He narrows his eyes, sniffing again like a fucking bloodhound.

"Uh– yeah, i–! Simon!" Before you can respond, ghost is sliding off the sofa to shove his nose against your crutch and huff the scent there "simon! That is so gross, stop that!"

"Mhhg– christ, you smell good." Ghost rumbles right against you, making your legs clench. You have to drag him out by his hair, but he just gives you the most blissfully dazed look "let me eat you, lovie. Wanna taste yer blood."

"Simon. You're disgusting." You let go of his hair, face burning, only for him to return right between your legs.

"I won't make a mess or nothin'. Get a towel, too." One hand coming up to wrap around your thigh, kneading the fat there pleadingly.

"....fine, you freak."

Which is how you end up lavishly cushioned by pillows at the head of the bed, chocolate and snacks available, ass firmly on top of mutliple layers of towels because you do not want to stain the new bedsheets.

Ghost nestles into you with that delighted, terrifying half-huff half-chuckle that he does. Trying to fit the sheer width of his shoulders comfortably between your thighs until you sigh and hook a calf behind his head to drag him in. You jolt at the first eager pass of his tongue over your folds.

"Fuck lovie– mmhhh taste good—" he groans, rumble so deep and satisfied you feel it in your core.

Ghost laps up the blood, more focused on the taste than really getting you anywhere, but he's so damn eager about it he has you grinding against his nose anyways. Every swipe of his tongue, every eager press into you like he's searching for more, it all has you whining and so close–

Without thought, you hook your foot behind your knee, trapping ghost tight against you, mouth still open, while you ride out a mind-numbing orgasm.

"Oh shit, sorry si– ...ew." you grimace when he surfaces absolutely smothered in your blood. But underneath it all his eyes are crinkled in absolute delight, like he's the happiest man on earth. With him leaning up a bit, you glance down and– "did you seriously...?"

"Cum? Yeah." Ghost settles right back down, head resting on your thigh. "Can i keep going? Please?"

You have no idea why it happened, only that one day your little girl decided the sight of her dad was the saddest thing on earth. Her little face would scrunch up in distress, and she'd start wailing, refusing to talk to anyone besides yelling "i don't wanna!!! No!! No i don't want to!!!"

You could tell how hard it was for John. How he'd try to comfort her and read to her and play dinosaurs.

"Pumpkin, come here," you call her one night before dinner. While price is in the kitchen, you sit her on one knee and ask "what's wrong with dad? Did something happen?"

"His....his beard." Your sweet girl mumbled, clutching her blankie tight.

"Uh. What about his beard?"

"It's so ugly!" Her yell makes you flinch back. Teary eyed, now that the truth is spilled your daughter continues "I don't wanna look like him!! I don't wanna! Nooooo!!!"

"Okay, okay, baby." You soothe, pick up her blanket she dropped on the floor "you don't have to. Why do you think you're gonna look like him?"

"Mmm...uncle kyle said I'll look like you and papa when I get big..." she whispers into the blanket, cheeks red from all the crying "I don't want an ugly beard when I look like papa...."

What.

Your daughter spent literal days sobbing her eyes out...because she thought she'd grow a beard like price. Your little one, who is absolutely enamoured by her father. Horrified by that ugly beard.

The typical thing. Young, daddy issues or something he can't be interested in listening to. The type to get all flustered about simple things like his tattoos being nearly as old as they are, or by the grey in his beard. He's heard and seen it all, and has indulged in their company plenty.

He's not, however, prepared for you.

You, clearly having a few years on him.

Grey in your hair that you wear well, an easy confidence to your movements. You've done this all before, sliding onto the seat next to him, looking him up and down.

For once, price feels hunted.

His brain totally stutters when you laugh at his usual flirty lines that work well for him. Teeth glint in the light, and your ankle hooks over his "that work for those little uni kids you bed? Adorable."

Suddenly, price understands all his bed partners because he'd drop to his knees in the middle of the bar right now if you asked. He has to hold back the desperation in his voice when he asks to take you home, but can't quite cover the whine when you respond "only if you behave, baby."

Which is how he ends up with his head between your knees for hours, dumb and drunk on your praise. He's only ever been able to really let go like this with one other person, sinking into that small warm space in his mind.

He's not sure he'll ever be able to have a younger partner after you.

I actually have a very simple process i follow!! :S

The key is to identify what parts of the animal you want to keep!! For a standard presentation hybrid, I keep things like tails, ears, claws, teeth for mammals. I typically focus on the instincts of mammals bc they're a bit boring trait-wise overall.

So for this weasel example, I would talk about him being underestimated due to his smaller frame compared to other carnivore hybrids. Or about him being very aggressive due to prey drive and such.

Ty for asking nonny! This might not make any sense but I'll try to explain it!! I think it truly depends on what you focus on.

Yes, both Harry Potter and CoD have inherently bad morals and propaganda tied into their stories, and their creators are pieces of shit. No one is contesting that. However, I have no issues with the fact someone likes the stories. Genuinely I don't care, its a piece of fiction and you liking it quietly does nothing.

The thing that i actually don't like about Harry Potter that doesn't happen with CoD is the active systematic oppression of trans women and by extension trans people in general.

CoD is owned by Microsoft and, while im sure Microsoft has some crazy shit they're doing, they have not dedicated their lives to killing Trans people.

JKR, on the other hand, has outright stated she intends to use the funds from Harry Potter to hurt trans people. All of her other works are total flops, no one even knows her other books, so her sole income is essentially Harry Potter.

And yes, it is so SO easy to tell yourself that you don't support her and leave it at that. But things like watching the movies via streaming platforms, attending hp events, engaging in fandom. It all tells companies that hell yeah, Harry Potter is still loved! We can make more money!! The widespread love of Harry Potter is the reason its back in theaters, the reason is has a show, the reason is has games.

I know, I know it doesn't seem big to most people. I know its a huge source of comfort for people, But these are my sisters she's hurting. My family, my community.

Your instincts have been all over the place since you broke your arm. Hormones running high from an injury, nesting instincts screaming, pack instincts clawing at your throat. You want nothing more than to curl up in a nest with your pack.

Unfortunately, half your pack is currently across the globe killing...someone probably.

Ghost bumps against your good arm with a chuff to snap you out of it. He's been stinking up your apartment with comforting alpha scent that has actually really helped your nerves. "C'mon, you need a nest, I can tell."

But you just stand staring at the pile of materials he gathered for you, frowning.

It feels...wrong to nest without both of your arms. You're used to doing it a specific way, and now it'll be off, but you really need a nest. Ghost makes another low chuff beside you, and...grabs the blankets?

Quietly, without word, he begins to build a nest.

Ghost, the clearest alpha if you've ever seen one, is currently constructing a near perfect nest in your apartment. He builds the walls up in a corner and manhandles you into it while he finishes the rest.

Almost instantly your instincts calm down, wrapped up in the warm and safety of a nest. It's not exactly to your usual, but it's good. So good that you're curling into his side and purring within the hour.

From the moment price gave ghost your file, he knew you'd be good. An Irish setter, you'd blend well with soap and gaz, border collie and belgian malinois respectively.

For a while, it's good.

You do damn good work on the field, tracking targets and flushing rooms easily. Ghost knows canine hybrids have a tendency to bond almost instinctual, but he's never truly seen it until you and the sergeants work together. Bodies moving almost as one hivemind, knowing eachothers actions and routes with nothing more than a bark.

Ghost also knows irish setters are social hybrids. He knew the team wasn't socially affectionate given how much soap joked about it, but he never thought it caused you much trouble.

Not until you started pushing yourself.

Ghost saw it, of course he did. It's his job to notice things like that.

He would be stretching on the field while you ran laps around base in the early morning. He'd come out from his shower to see you still working in the gym. So what if you push yourself? It's not his problem until it interferes with a mission.

If only ghost has stepped in when he noticed.

Then he wouldn't be stood in front of an obviously sickly soldier while you struggled to get into stance. Ever since you walked through the gym doors, the team has been glancing at eachother. You sway with each step, sweat from just walking to the mats. Price has to say your name twice before you respond. Ghost is sure gaz and soap can smell the sickness on you.

It seems they all come to a silent agreement.

Whenever it's your turn to spar, ghost is overly gentle. He hardly punches, and allows most of your weak hits to land. Price skips your name half the time and you hardly notice.

Still, no one says anything.

Not until you're standing and weakly pushing ghost back onto the mats, insisting on on last round. "Runt, maybe you should rest–" ghost os trying to say, but you just settle into stance–

And sway, heavy, harsh. You collapse like you've been shot, and it makes ghosts heart thunder when he jumps to catch you.

His hand barely lands under you, swearing "fuck! Sergeant, you awake?"

Gaz kneels next to you, fingers finding your pulse and lips pressing into a thin line when he can barely feel it.

Without hesitation, ghost is scooping you up to take to medical, gaz and soap right on his heels, whining lowly.

The other girls never liked to play with you, and growing up boys would always pretend to ask you on dates as a joke. It is a lonely thing, being so aware of your appearance.

You would hiss in embarrassment at every 'candid' photo, outright refuse to be in any staged ones. You scribbled your own face out of the yearbook. Never once have you felt like the pretty girl in any situation, embarrassed to take up space, mortified to be witnessed.

Then you grew up, and you only seemed to grow more into your ugly body.

You worked hard because you had to. Because there were no pretty boys to offer to help with your studying. You worked, got yourself a good degree, then an okay job at some military base while you tried to find a position in the actual field you studied for.

Maybe that's why you have such a hard time believing ghost when he corners you in front of everyone and asks "wanna go out wi' me tonight, love?"

You can hear the snickers from across the room.

Ghost, one of the many attractive men on base. Tall, broad, handsome in the way he'd carry himself. You've seen under the mask only once, and christ is he hot. You frown, look away "stop that, ghost. It's mean."

"Stop what?" Ghost tilts his head, intense in the way his eyes scan over your face.

"Making...making a scene. I get it, you're funny." You huff, whispered low in the hopes no one will hear it. Somehow the ugly girl knowing she's ugly is still hilarious to people.

"Hm. Okay," ghost steps back, raises to his full height and rolls his shoulders like he would shaking off a punch. "I'll ask you in private."

You don't linger to talk to anyone after that. For a week, you forget about it. Being humiliated by your peers is nothing new to you, even if you did have high hopes for ghost.

You think he's like all the others, searching for a cheap laugh. Then you get a knock on your office door.

"I meant what I said." Are the first words out of his mouth, followed by a weird cough. He adjusts the strap on his glove without looking at you "go out with me?"

The thought of someone actually wanting you makes your stomach twist. That's never happened.

You say yes out of some morbid curiosity.

Ghost, as it turns out, has expensive tastes. He cleans up well, and when he picks you up the first words out of his mouth are "you look stunning, love."

Stunning. It feels cheesy and stupid but it makes your heart flutter. Stunning. You.

All night, it seems the only thing ghost is interested in is looking at you, listening to you talk. He seems absolutely enamoured. For once, you relax. You stop thinking about your looks, about what others think, about hiding yourself. You order a glass of wine and enjoy your date.

That night, when ghost practically begs for another date, and the morning after when you overhear him bragging about his cute date on base, you actually believe him.

Ghost thinks your pretty. Maybe, someday, you'll feel it too.

Vs

Kyle "I never got rid of the teenage metabolism" garrick who can never seem to hold onto weight. You spend weeks feeding him, watching with delight as he softens out and gains that energy back to his smile. Only for him to go on some mission for a month and come back with a far too chiseled six pack! It's not like he doesn't eat, his body just seems to never get enough of it.

Okay so here's this OLD AS FUCK simon doodle that shows how I kinda view spider hybrids by default! Lower presentation hybrids will have internal fangs similar to a vampire, and high presentation hybrids may also have fur alone their bodies and extra arms!

Tossing a gaz wip below the cut

My blog is an active hostile zone for hp fans. Im setting up bear traps as we speak.

Dbf!nik who comes rolling in on his loud ass motorcycle, that one you swear he's had since you were a kid 'helping' him work on it in the garage. Nikolai smiles at you when he pulls his helmet off, usually slicked back hair a mess. "Ah! How you've grown!"

Dbf!nik who tosses you his large leather jacket, when you try to hop onto the bike. He snarks about your dad killing him if you got a scrape, but you're too focused snuggling into the fabric that smells like him.

Dbf!nik who smiles to himself when your hands wander on the ride back. A bit too low on his torso, then moving to the inside of his thigh over a sharp turn. Curious fingers mere centimeters off from his cock.

Dbf!nik who doesn't fuck you on the side of the road, or in your bed when you get home. He prefers the look full of desire you give him. The special thread that hasn't quite been crossed yet. He likes the anticipation.

When he first woke up after...everything...the doctors told him he'd probably never walk perfectly, but decent recovery was possible. At the time, all soap heard was "the military has no more use for you. Pack your bags, soldier."

Takeout and the eight feet between his couch and the door to his apartment became soaps new world. Did you know you can get alcohol delivered right to your door? All soap has to do is sign. Still getting around in that shitty wheelchair provided by the hospital.

Then he gets the call from you.

You, his baby sister he hasn't seen in years. Who he thought he lost after dad kicked you both out, didn't want an abomination like the pair of you under his roof. You call, and your voice is so much softer than those beginning years, "johnny! I'm getting married!"

You ask him to walk you down the aisle, unaware of his situation. Soap says yes.

He works his ass off, but the progress is slow. His physical therapist says this would have been easier had he started earlier, that most of his muscle mass is gone. Every break between sessions, soap calls for an update from you. Trying to catch up on misspent years. Every "I'm so much happier now, I wish you were here." Makes him feel stronger. Every "he's lovely, johnny. You'll think he's funny. Makes me feel like a proper lady." Has him pushing through the next painful exercise.

And the thing is, soap wants nothing more than to walk you down the aisle properly. He thought he wanted the military, thought he wanted the guns and violence and the feeling of being right. But more than any of that he wants to be there for his sister.

The doctor tells him it won't happen.

Soap flies out to you a month before the wedding. He meets you for the first time in years, your brother of flesh and blood, using a walker.

Soap expects rejection, hate, or at least dissapointment. He tells you this is the best he'll ever get, that the man you want walking you down the isle will be slow and unstable the whole time.

You look soap dead in the eyes, nose scrunched in anger, "you asshole!" You grab his jaw, force him to look at you properly "you did not risk your life for me everyday just so I could reject you! You're walking me, end of fuckin' discussion."

Soap has never known his sister to not get what she wanted.

He walks you down the aisle, walker and all. It's beautiful. The wedding is amazing. You chose good people to surround yourself with, because not one person makes soap feel ashamed that night. All he feels is joy.