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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THIS BLOG BY FAGS FOR FAGS AND IF U DONT FUCK WITH THAT PLS FUCK OFF.

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WHAT?!?!!?? I MISSED ALLIGATOR HYBRIDS!?!?!? NONNY PUT IT BACK UP PLSSSS

Ngl guys I'm soooo bad about checking my @ mentions (;_;) might be better to make the post and toss a link in my inbox or dm it to me I prommy I don't bite (*´-`)

Of course, ghost first realized how bad your eating habits are while out getting dinner with you. Yes, dinner, a small payback-maybe-date after he rescued you from your broken down car at 3am.

"Uhm...I'll just have the chicken tenders. From the kids menu, please." You refuse to make eye contact with the waiter or ghost, stomach twisting that none of the more adult options were anything you liked.

You braces for the comments from ghost, having heard plenty from his teammates. Gaz snorting about what he's dubbed "your one vegetable a month" whenever he sees the only sub you eat lettuce with. Soap, too, makes comments about how you should try home-cooked meals instead of your store bought meals. Even price has chuckled about "dessert for lunch again, love?" When literally all you could stomach that week was sweets.

When you doesn't comment, you stubbornly stay staring at your hands "I know it's embarrassing eating with me...sorry."

"Wot? Yer eating, aren't you?" Ghost raises his brow at you, shoveling another giant onion ring into his mouth. "Not my fuckin' issue. If you don't want it, give it to me."

And...really you should have expected this.

Ghost, the man who lived on literal scraps in his childhood, who ate everything he was given because he had no choice. Of course he wouldn't care what you eat, so long as you eat.

"Oh...uhm." You're not sure what to say. You're used to always feeling some level of embarrassment about your diet. "Thank...you."

One dinner turns to two, turns to shared lunches and weekend brunches. You gravitate towards ghost because he doesn't care about your eating habits. If you order something and find it tastes different than expected, ghost will happily devour your dish while you ask about crisps.

It's common knowledge that captive mers, especially ones kept in amusement parks, can experience deteriorated instincts. They lack social skills, hunting abilities, and most importantly reproductive success.

Meaning, when you're transferred into a mer sanctuary, it's expected for you to have trouble bonding. They place you with a formerly wild mer, id-tagged "ghost", as he's very forward. The hope, of course, that you'll be pupped come winter.

You clearly want ghost, you just...don't know what to do, it seems.

"What...surely not." Gaz, your main caretaker, whispers under his breath. Inside the tank, you chase ghost around, webbed hands grabbing at his face only for him to huff and turn away. At first it looks like some strange dominance display, but the longer he looks the more gaz realizes you're trying to kiss ghost.

Of course you learned your mating behaviors from humans. You probably saw enough PDA for it to imprint on you.

A quick consult with his supervisors, and gaz has you laid out in the shallow waters of the observation shelf. You blink up at him all docile, having grown up in similar positions during your husbandry work. You don't thrashi or growl like other mers, comfortable with you snout nudging Gaz's knee, licking at the wetsuit material.

"Okay, runt, let's help you out, yeah?" Gaz hums, signaling ghost over to slide onto the ledge like he would for an exam. "Ghost! Up here!"

It's easy getting you and ghost into the correct position, though it would be more natural for you both underwater. You chirp curiously up at ghost, completely oblivious with no instincts to guide you on how to feel about a mer lying on top and pinning your tail down.

"Okay, ghost, I'm sure you know what to do. Just let me–" gloved hands slip into ghosts slit, pulling his cocks out instead of waiting the extra time for them to emerge. Ghost grumbles a bit, knocking his head against gazs side before focusing back on you as gaz lines him up.

"Here we go." He smiles approvingly at the whine you let out on the first thrust. A bit shocked, a bit blissed out already. "Bet that feels real nice, eh?"

You squirm and chirp more, body wriggling under ghost. Clearly you want to participate, but every attempt to reach for ghosts face earns a corrective nip. Gaz, who had been too focused on ghosts cock rutting into you, didn't have time to react when you reached for him.

"What–! Hey! Mhhp–" a long, slippery tongue forces it's way inside of his mouth, thick and warm. To another mer, if kisses were at all normal, it would feel astonishingly tender. For gaz it feels like being face-fucked.

It shouldn't feel as good as it does, but he can't stop it, not when you decide to go deeper and he really has to focus on breathing through his nose.

Above the both of you, ghost rumbles approvingly. bracketing one arm around you and the other around gaz, he keeps what he now recognizes as two mates close together.

When ghost finally cums, gaz is mortified that the second cock is aimed directly at him. Milt splashing across his wetsuit.

Thank you and hope you're well

Without fail, the horror on your face followed by a gasped "what the fuck, ghost!?" Has him chuckling to himself.

"Loose spinach!! Cantaloupe in the same thing– is that raw meat?!! Ghost–!" You ramble on, scandalized by the thing he calls a meal.

He's always snacking on something sour, gummy worms an essential part of his kit by now. When you first started dating, you had wooed gaz with a huge basket of every sour candy you could find, and somehow that was the gift that had him blushy and teary-eyed for the first time.

The fact price banned snacks during training may have been the only think keeping your basket from being devoured within the week.

The...unforseen side affect of his sour candy obsession is that everytime gaz tries to kiss you, you get a mouthful of sour.

"Babeeee c'mon, just a peck!" Gaz whines, plump lips turned into an adorable pout "I barely even ate anything sour!"

You scrunch your nose at him, "last time you said that you had just been eating a mega sour. Sorry that I don't want acid in my mouth!"

You hold out the water bottle. "Rinse."

"This is humiliating," kyle huffs, making a show off swishing the water around in his mouth "price never does this to soap."

"Price is a masochist." You dismiss, opening his mouth with your fingers to check for any assassins. Once cleared, you smile and pull him in for a kiss.

Only to be pushed down until your back hit the soft, worn in cushions of the couch. Gaz crawling over you without breaking the kiss, taking your shock to shove his tongue in. You mentally sigh at the faint sour taste, then quickly forget when a muscled thigh is pressed against your crotch, firm in just the way you like.

When gaz pulls away, he looks far too happy with himself "if I have to do so much for just a kiss, why not make the most of it, baby?"

All that's left now is a thick blanket of scar tissue, gashes and cuts from when his wings were cut out and his back stitched back together. Finer raised lined from the subsequent beatings in places mean only for a mate. All of it often tight and irritated from neglect.

You know he doesn't have wings anymore, that his back is more of store of trauma than sensitivity with a lover.

Still, you had begged so sweetly for ghost to let you take care of him. Reassuring "you don't have to feel anything, si. I just...I worry about you."

After a warm meal and time spent cuddling in the nest, you roll simon onto his stomach and pull you the creams and ointments you bought months ago.

"Let me know if you want to stop." You remind, scooping some of the cream out with three fingers. You let it warm in your palm.

The first touch had ghost flinching, shoulders tucked to ears and a warning-chirp barely suppressed. Calm, you work in slow circles.

Always gentle, always deliberate. Nothing that can be misconstrued as anything similar to what he did to your simon.

"Doing good for me." Whispered into the dark, finally working up to his shoulders and pressing into the valley of his spine. The sudden, low croon almost makes you freeze. You hear that sound so rarely you almost don't recognize it.

Pleasure. His back may not be as sensitive as it was, but clearly having you touch it is doing something to ghost. His muscles contract in what would have been spreading wings, hips subtly rocking into the pillows and blankets.

"Good boy, simon, doing so well..." you know he's aware of your realization, but you don't want him to stop those sweet little chirps.

Moving from one cream to the next, you focus on treating the scar tissue as best you can, only pausing for a moment when his whole body seizes in an orgasm. Even cooing when he whines and flutters as the last ointment, overstimulated in just the right way.

Ghost can't stand to live without his wings, can't cope with everything roba took most days.

You've known the name "john price" long before you knew how to write your own, child fingers tracing the letters on your arm, reverent.

You tried finding him, of course you did, but as it happens john price is far too common of a name. You give up on your dreams eventually. life demands you to actually live it instead of waiting for the signal to go.

As it happens, on one of your nights out you stumble upon him.

John price. You had noticed him in the bar earlier, drawn to him in a way you couldn't explain, and now it's him approaching you. He nods at your exposed arm, body between you and the rest of the crowd, almost possessive. "You are my soulmate, yes?"

Your name rolls off his tongue like honey, has your soul thumping at the thought of the one.

John price is big, strong, and dangerously handsome. He smells like whiskey and smoke and expensive cologne that tells you the gold around his neck is real. He keeps glancing at your mark with a smile, awestruck the same as you.

"Can i see my name? I want...I want to feel it." You tug at his leather jacket impatiently.

"Ah, bad idea. I was...hurt. left a scar right next to it, looks quite gruesome." He frowns, redirecting your hand to his lips for a kiss. You understand, soulmarks are personal, add in insecurity about scars and...you decide not to push.

Still, when his hand slides low on your back, eyes lidded in desire, you follow him home.

God are you thankful john is your soulmate, you're not sure how you could enjoy another man after the night he gave you. Entire body sore and pleased, face-down on his bed.

Hehehe nahhhh I don't post myself online sorry( ´∀`)

it's hard enough being a bug hybrid, many people have certain prejudice against you as-is, but as a hybrid with a "pest" counter-part? you're no stranger to rude and downright mean comments even from peers.

Which is why you're absolutely dumbfounded by ghost of all people approaching you out of nowhere to ask "can I take you on a date?"

You should know better, having been the victim of many 'pranks' in your youth, but something about the open way he says it has you hesitantly agreeing. He's attractive, funny, hopefully nice...it seems like a good idea.

Only for you to end up at a salad bar with a bowl full of leafy greens and fruits while ghost eagerly watches with an untouched plate. He smiles, pushes more towards you "don't be shy, lovie, eat up."

Sure, it's really weird, but not once has he made fun of your antennae or your mouthparts or anything....it's almost...nice?

"Can i try some of your honeydew?" Ghost blurts out in front of your apartment after an eerily silent car ride.

For a second, you're convinced he's joking. You've never met anyone who likes aphid hybrid honeydew, no one. Most don't know what it is. Those piercing brown eyes stay fixed on you unblinkingly, dead serious.

You've never been good at managing impulse, so you chitter happily and tug ghost inside.

"It'll be okay, sweetpea, just be strong for dada, okay?" He rumbles, baby tucked to his chest in the exam room. She's so small and excited, wide eyes taking in the new room, no idea what's about to happen.

But price does, and it tears him up inside.

The nurse has the needle out, and price has to fight the urge to tuck his little girl against his chest and hide her away. Instead, he nods with his face already red in upset and forces out "okay. Do it."

The reaction is instant, baby's hands curling into fists and face twisting with a cry. Wet, innocent eyes turning to stare at her papa as if asking why he did that to her.

The rest of the day, price is inseparable with her.

Keeps her cuddled up in his arms or right in front of him, eye's glassy with remorse. Even when you point out how your daughter has clearly moved on, smashing her toy trains together, he just furrows his brows.

Maybe this was the first reminder.

That some thing's he can never protect from pain. Not even his daughter. Not even you.

When he comes home to an empty house, gutted and trashed with bullet holes in the plaster and no signs of you or his kid, he will think of that exam room.

And of course he refuses to let you sleep in the same bed as him, he's married, got it? So you sleep on the couch after watching a movie, awfully endeared by your husband.

He talks about you constantly, his sweet angel that soon enough he'll have safe in his home. Price has always been one to fall too hard too fast, but even gaz can agree that something feels special about this time.

So, the team agrees to meet you.

Only for all of them to nearly choke or die when you come walking up to their table, practically hanging off price's arm.

Because each if them has slept with you.

Gaz has seen you spread out on his bedsheets, legs wrapped around his waist while you begged for just one more round. Soap has seen you in the back of his car, his knees aching from so long spent with his tongue between thighs. Ghost knows what you sound like choking on dick in the alleyway behind the local bar.

And now you sit next to their captain, and he's made it clear he wants to marry you.

When price steps away to get you a drink, you look them dead in the eyes and say "he fucks better than you and he's mature."

Yikes...