Strictly 18+ P! Twt Links Part 4

♥︎ strictly 18+ ♥︎ p! twt links ♥︎ part 4 ♥︎

SIMON ‘GHOST’ RILEY… ♥︎

what better way to wake your husband up than to ride his cock in the skimpy lingerie he bought you

simon prepping you open before stuffing another of your holes full

riding simon in the rec room

sloppy head for your lieutenant

simon takes you to a remote cabin for your anniversary

elevator shenanigans w frat bf! simon

the mask stays on, even when your fully spread and squealing

JOHNNY ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH… ♥︎

cuddles and sex

wearing your underwear like a ring on his cock bc he’s yours and only yours

christening the new house w some fun in bed

boob job for nerd bf! johnny

paying thanks to johnny for taking you on such a loved holiday w your mouth

johnny is a tease through and through

back shots w silly! soap

KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK… ♥︎

spread your cheeks for kyle

squelching and slurping as he shoves his cock into your drooling cunt

sneaking into gaz’s bunk to show him some love

slow and sweet sex w big dick kyle

beach day w kyle ends w you on your knees

you and kyle are left alone in the car.. what else is there to do

clap them cheeks for gaz

CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE… ♥︎

price loves eating your pussy

john just can’t keep his hands (or cock) to himself when you wear pink

mafia boss! price takes you on his poker table

professor! price takes good care of his favourite student

any glimpse of pink and he’s feral

missionary w your older neigbour! john

you buy a pink wig… ofc he was gonna fuck you in it

been thinking of maybe making a tag list, pls lmk if you’d like to be added <3333

Cygnus: Conner and Asteria are missing, can you find them?

Colin: What, do you think I have a tracking spell on them or something?

Cygnus: Well, do you?

Colin:

Colin: Yeah, hang on.

Astra : I think Damen mixed up our lunches. Look [holds up a post-it note that says "I'm proud of you and I love you so much. "]

Conner: oh, that explains this. [holds up a post-it note that says "Please be good. For the love of God, be good. "]

I recently had surgery, and at the time I came home, I had both my cat and one of my grandma's cats staying with me.

- Within hours of surgery, I wake up from a nap to my cat gently sniffing at my incisions with great alarm.

- I was not allowed to shower the first day after surgery, and the cats, seeing that The Large Cat is not observing its cleaning ritual, decided I must be gravely disabled and compensated by licking all the exposed skin on my arms, face, and legs.

- I currently have to sleep with a pillow over my abdomen because my cat insists on climbing on top of me and covering my incisions with her body while I sleep (which is very sweet but not exactly comfortable without the pillow). She also lays across me facing my bedroom door, presumably on guard for attackers who may try to harm me while I'm sleeping and injured.

That's love. 🐈‍⬛🐈❤️

Source: hoseobiiiiiii._.0410

Congratulations on your 1000 followers!!!

For your event i request the following...

Ghost. Soulmate (colors). Cage.

Hear me out either reader or ghost is trapped in a cage and thats how they meet.

Congratulations again!!!!

You have been heard… why are you allergic to joy??

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Gn!Reader

Soulmate AU - Cage

As a prisoner of war, you had one job: don’t give up intel.

It didn’t matter what they put you through. The waterboarding, the starvation, the damn cage they trapped you in. Saying anything you knew would lead to death, the very thing you wanted to avoid. Your knowledge would go the grave with you.

You shiver, squinting out into the dim room you’re kept in. The terrorists blissfully didn’t give you a gag, probably hoping you’d shout out secret intel. You’d rather freeze before doing that, curled up on the metal floor or the dog cage they’ve locked you in.

Maybe it’s been weeks. Maybe it’s been months. Their hideout doesn’t seem to have any windows, and you can’t tell what color the light under the door is to tell what time it is. Everything’s in black-and-white because you haven’t met your soulmate, and would probably never now.

Numb fingers hook around the bars of your cage, your shoulder uncomfortably resting against them. Bastards couldn’t even give you a single blanket. Fuck them. Fuck them, and fuck their whole organization.

You were—are—a soldier in special operations. A sergeant. They can demean you however they fucking like, but you’ve been trained not to give in. You’d rather die here.

They left you in your mission clothes, the same ones you were wearing when you got captured. By now they’re stained, wrinkled, and torn, but familiar. Still yours, something they haven’t stripped from you yet.

Faintly, you can hear gunshots. Maybe they’re practicing their shooting like they often do. Special forces could beat them in an aiming contest any day, so they really need the practice.

You wait for the shots to stop then start again, maybe hear a few choice swears, but you don’t. Instead, you get the sound of quick footsteps and shouting. Way too many voices to be the same terrorists that captured you.

Sitting straighter, you have to duck your head so you don’t hit it on the cage ceiling. What’s going on? More terrorists? You don’t let yourself hope that it’s a rescue mission. You knew a long time ago: they don’t do rescue missions.

The door bursts open, sunlight streaming in and nearly blinding you. You force your eyes to stay open though, getting ready to claw at someone if you have to.

But instead of a sloppy terrorist, or even a leader in some fancy suit, you recognize the gear the person is wearing. The familiar gun, the combat boots, helmet, and vest.

Military.

You can’t see the colors of the flag on his vest, but he turns and you can mostly make out the shape. British, you’re pretty sure. Someone safe.

“Fuck were they doing in here?” The stranger asks, voice gruff. He kicks at an empty can on the ground, and you lick your cracked lips in preparation to talk.

The soldier beats you to it though. He turns toward you, giving you a full view of the skull mask he wears. Eyes falling downwards, they see the cage, then meet yours.

Color explodes across your vision.

He has blue eyes. The can was red. The walls are blue, which you hadn’t guessed.

The soldier seems equally as surprised, slowly looking around before dropping into a crouch in front of you. Well, not just any soldier, you guess. Your soulmate.

“Who the hell are you?” He asks, not opening the latch yet. Not wanting to risk you being a terrorist, you’re guessing.

You scramble for the chain around your neck, tugging it off and offering your dog tags to him. He reads them, stands up, and shouts over his shoulder.

“Price! We’ve got a POW in here!”

Another man comes in—Price?—in the same outfit. Except he has a hat on. You glance warily between the two, shifting.

“Stop.” Your soulmate orders, not even looking away from you.

”You called me in here, Ghost—“

“You’re scaring ‘em.” Ghost answers.

Ghost. An interesting Callsign, one that sounds vaguely familiar. You’ve heard it somewhere before. Maybe one of the terrorists mentioned him. Something about him being scary. You can certainly see why; he’s big, looks dangerous. But he’s your soulmate apparently.

“Fuck you.” You say hoarsely. “I’m not scared.”

“Goddamn.” Price whistles. “How long you been here?”

You’re too prideful to ask what day it is, so you fix him with a glare instead. Fuck him too.

“Long enough, I’d wager.” Finally, Ghost reaches out to start undoing the locks and latches of your cage.

“No kidding.” Price goes to step forward again, but Ghost jerks his head around to glare at him. “Fuck, Ghost. I’m just tryin’ to help.”

“I’m helping.” Short, simple. Territorial.

He swings the cage door open, and you scramble out, desperate to finally stand. You’re never going to take stretching for granted again. Every day you’re going to stretch without complaint, you swear.

The second you get your legs under you, they buckle, weak from disuse. Ghost catches you easily, an arm around your waist. His touch seems hesitant, hand flat on your side instead of curling around you.

“I can walk.” You insist.

“You can hardly talk.” Price corrects you. “Let’s get you back to our base and deal with this from there.”

He turns on his heel, striding out. Leaving you with Ghost. Leaving you with your fucking soulmate.

Ghost’s head tilts down to look at you. “You ain’t some kind of fucked up trick?” He asks.

“…no?”

“Then let’s go.”