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!

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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...

"Hold on, lovie," Ghost's been working you open for what felt like hours, one arm braced next to your head and the other pumping three fingers into your hole.

Only after you had begun mewling and scratching at his bicep did he sit back and notch his tip against your entrance.

"Fuck, okay." Ghost inhales, eyes heavy with lust. The muscles under his skin coiled tight and ready to pounce. "Deep breath, biiiig stretch–"

Ghost times his thrust with his words, carefully drawn out. Like he's keeping himself in pace when all he wants to do is shove in and ravage you. The thick head of his cock nudging so deep you almost try to get away from it–

"No, you can handle it—" hot hands on your waist, pulling you down.

They squeeze tight for only a moment then fly up to grip the headboard instead. The wood creaks under his strength. Ghost shudders above you, cock twitching while he groans. "You can take it love, just be good, yeah? Mghh okay, nice and slow–"

As if ghost isn't just trying to keep himself in check. Remind himself that you're not some toy and he could easily break you. He just needs to take it slow, let you warm up, even if he wants nothing more than to hold you tight and fill you with cum.

Not like you make it easy, thrashing under him like a trapped animal. Mouth open in pleasure and hips working in small circles. Ghost wants to grind you between his teeth, wants to keep you all to himself, wants to have you like no one else can.

"Okay, it's okay, just hold on–" he grunts, head dipping down until his lips brush the thin skin of your neck. He presses a kiss to the junction instead of teeth.

Feels you come apart under him, clenching tight, legs shaking. He has to grind his teeth to stop from losing control, practically growling above you while his cock jerks and spills into the condom.

"Good job, lad." Ghost knocks his tip forehead against yours before making a swift retreat to grab a towel.

It's just really jarring as a fem reader to be nearly at the end of a post and see male pronouns for no reason :/ like ik it's tagged but sometimes I get too caught up in the writing to check the tags then get jumpscared :/

Nope :]

As you mentioned, all my readers are appropriately tagged. You can actually [filter tags] so you are warned if a post contains a certain tag. I will always use the tags "male reader" and "male!reader"

I'd also recommend filtering "ftm reader" and "ftm!reader" if you don't want to see he/him reader. I hope this helps nonny!! :3

People are used to you butting into soaps conversations just to make him hold your hands, enjoying the warmth in the middle of winter. Or seeing you two cuddled in a far too public space, you practically zipped up in just jacket to trap the body heat.

"My personal space heater," you tell him, hands cupping his face and cooing lovingly when you snuggle into the bed that's already warmed by johnny. "What would i do without you?"

"Ach, you couldn't shake me if you tried!" Soap laughs, pulls you into bed and unceremoniously flops down on top of you. By the end of the night you'll be sweaty from the heat, but right now it'd nothing short of comforting.

When soap doesn't come back from the tunnel, you're not sure what to do with yourself.

"I miss you, johnny." You tell the frame that sits on your nightstand. His jacket warmed by the dryer, heat seeping into the cold bed until all you feel is the bite of the winter.

Those long cold nights spent in bed, the winters without him.

People whisper about you when they think you aren't looking. They whisper about the man who's more ice than person, don't try to get close to him unless you want to freeze too.

You shower with the water set to cold, and not one of your teammates comment on it. You wear johnnys tags over your heart, the cold metal pressing against your sternum.