#ghost riley angst

[mcntsee]

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

[simonz-angel]

shower time w/ simon n his pretty lil roommate

water beats down at his shoulders, scorching drops pelting down the arch of his arms, down the rippling muscles of his chest. soap lingers on his skin as his hand words quick strokes over his cock, head falling back to let water run through his hair and over his flushed face.

on the other side of the shower curtain there you are, he can barely see the silhouette of your body, can barely make out the soft of your voice. but fuckkkk the mere outline of your plush curves had him in some fuckin trance.

“ugh, i still don’t understand why they couldn’t just come over and watch a movie with us.” you’re speaking of your friends, painting your lips in a cherry, explosive red as you get ready to go out to the bar together. but simon couldn’t focus on anything except the emphasis of us. good god.

he presses his free hand to the striking cold shower tiles, lip stung between his teeth as he chokes back his guttural noises. his stomach rising, flexing and pulling back suddenly taut against his organs, breath ragged.

“si?” you chirp, and he can hear the click of your heels at the edge of the curtain. he can see the slightly sliver of your soft, thick legs. fuck fuck fuck. “would you tell me if i look good in this.”

and he abides, folding his back to the shower wall, hips reeled forward to keep working his hand. and when the beads of water strike his cock, he’s in shambles, jaw dropping and eyes rolling, barely concealing his reaction when his neck rolls and his head hits the cool tile.

his eyes scan you, your sweet dress cuts down into your breasts, accentuating em in a way that they spill into his face. it cuts into the plush of your waist, silhouetting your figure sweetly. and when his eyes drop to your legs, his cock spurts.

“so?” you giggle, giving him a lil spin, before you’re popping a hip in question. “how do i look?”

and simon chuckles to himself, pulling his lip between his teeth to hide the whimper that works itself up his goddamn throat.

“y-you look beautiful, babe.” he chokes slightly, desperate to lick the tang of your red lip off, to have it ringed round the base of him. n his head rolls back, low eyes looking down your dress as he mumbles, “one more spin for me?”

[400badrequest]

Ghost, who ends up somehow doing undercover work. The goal is simple - get close to the targets daughter. Simple, right? Fuck her, tease secrets out of her.

And you're so easy - too trusting. Well, the normal amount of trusting for a civilian. And sure, you have crippling daddy issues, and Simon's so big and quiet and kind. How can you not fall for him?

But the case keeps building and he can't leave - he ends up moving in. His clothing mixes with yours. He uses your soaps, you start taking your tea the way he does (black, one sugar).

It's not pretty when you find out. It's not pretty when he leaves. It's certainly not pretty when your father finds out.

[itsoutrageouss]

It’s the first time Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley sees you cry that something in him changes profoundly. You had always had your different skill sets out on the field, it was what made you such a powerful duo for the task force. You were sly, agile, a killer in the dark and he was a brute show of force and strength, able to kill with his bare hands. You argued a lot, though. Your differences that made you work so well also made you clash time and time again. He found you annoying. You found him arrogant.

But after a mission, Ghost finds you collapsed on the floor in an empty building— Crying. He’d never seen you do that before, but he knew you were a softer more sensitive soul, you were just good at hiding it.

He was moving before he realised it, crouching down in front of you, eyes narrowed as he tried to find your gaze that was lost in a heap of warm tears. His hands got clammy and his throat dry because how could he make it stop? It was like the sight had reached in and seized a part of him long gone, maybe one he’d never found before now.

“Stop crying.” He said foolishly, but his tone had lost its usual edge, and the very rare lilt of pleading had laced into his voice. Why did he suddenly grab your shoulders and press your trembling body into his? He had no clue but he wanted to shield you from whatever had made you look so vulnerable before him.

A part of him didn’t like seeing this, didn’t recognise the garbled sound of soft sobs, the way your body’s strength seemed to evaporate into a fragile, soft one that he wanted to pick up and put back together. Another part of him was sucking in this moment, afraid it would get lost and maybe feeling a bit guilty about it. But this feeling of… was it protection? Protection, yes. He’d never had it like this before. Usually, protecting means killing and hurting. Right now it meant nurturing as your small hands reached around his neck and you curled into him. He reacted immediately, sitting down and scooping you into his lap.

He closed his eyes, his chin resting on your head with a sigh. He had no idea what came next. This had to change your dynamic in some way because he couldn’t ever look at you the same. He saw your softness and maybe he fell in love with it right there, and wanted to be the one you showed it to. Only him.

“Im sorry” You whispered into his chest. His hands flexed around you, fighting the urge to smother you even more against him.

“Dont say that. Just keep holding onto me.” His voice was more hoarse than usual as his fingers unconsciously combed through your hair.

Whatever had happened, he was sure you felt it too, or you would’ve never let him this close. And he wished for everything you would let him again one day.

series masterlist

[khioneee]

tap out.

simon doesn’t expect anyone to tap him out. a ritual where loved ones step forward to release a soldier from duty, creating a chance to reconnect.

based on this.

simon stands in formation, a soldier among countless others, each bound by discipline, each carrying their own story beneath a stoic exterior.

in the unyielding line, he’s silent, gaze fixed forward, while around him, families reunite: sons embraced by tearful mothers, women lifting their children into their arms, couples lost in long-awaited kisses. joy and relief fill the air, carried on quiet laughter and murmured words of love.

but simon is an orphan now.

there’s no one to step forward for him, no one to break his stance. he watches it all, standing alone, feeling like a stranger in this crowd of reunions, this world of connections he never belonged to.

over the years, the military has stripped him down, rebuilt him into something hardened and unbreakable. this new self is his armor, a wall between him and the life he left behind.

the tap-out tradition is a formality he’s only ever heard about, something he’s watched from a distance but never expected for himself.

he stands motionless as soldiers around him are tapped out by loved ones. he watches quietly, feeling a distant sense of satisfaction for them, grateful that they have that in their lives.

maybe soap would tap him out after he’d seen to his own family.

no matter how many times simon tried to keep him at arm’s length, he’d come to accept that soap wasn’t leaving him behind. coerced into the friendship or not, soap was a friend. until soap has been tapped out, there’s no one in simon’s life to come pick him out.

still, simon knew he was alone in ways he couldn’t change. or so he believes.

then he feels it—a subtle shift in the air, hesitant footsteps halting just in front of him, carrying a weight he doesn’t understand. his breath catches, but he doesn’t move. he’s trained to hold his position, but something in him almost falters as he senses a presence just inches away. slowly, he lets his gaze shift, barely, enough to catch a silhouette he thought he’d left behind a lifetime ago.

it’s you.

you. his childhood best friend. the love of his life.

you. the only person he thought of when he escaped his broken home. you. the guilt that wracked him when he ran, unable to say goodbye after the night he barely escaped after being beat nearly to death. you. the only reason he wanted to be alive, and the person he hadn’t been able to look back for.

—you. you. you.

and now here you are, standing before him, eyes wide with hope and uncertainty, tears gathering at the corners like unsaid words held back for too long.

he doesn’t understand, not fully. he thought he’d locked that door, left that part of him sealed away. and yet, here you are, holding everything he thought he’d left behind.

you hesitate, the weight of the years pressing down between you, unsure if you’re allowed to do this. if you can reach out to him after all this time, to be the one who taps him out.

he senses your uncertainty, feels it as if it’s his own, and in that moment, he lets a flicker of vulnerability break through—a slight furrow in his brow, a subtle nod. silent permission.

and you know, in that instant, it’s okay.

with a trembling hand, you reach forward, closing the distance. your hand hovers over his shoulder for a heartbeat, the air between you heavy with everything left unsaid.

then, gently, you tap him out. a simple touch, light and fleeting, yet it breaks something open in both of you.

in an instant, simon moves. his arms come around you, his grip unyielding as he pulls you close, lifting you off the ground. the soldier falls away, and he’s just simon again, holding you as if you’re the only real thing in a world that’s constantly shifting.

his head lowers, his face buried in your shoulder, and he breathes you in, lets the walls he’s held up for years fall away.

‘you’re here,’ he murmurs, voice rough, thick with emotion he can’t hide anymore.

his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, each touch soft, a silent promise. the weight of years and regret presses against him, but he holds you tighter, as if to make up for every moment he was gone.

you feel the warmth of his tears against your shoulder, silent and raw. he pulls you closer still, as if afraid to let go, his voice barely a whisper as he breathes, ‘i’m sorry, lovie. i’m so damn sorry. i’ll never leave you behind again. i promise.’

and in that moment, surrounded by echoes of lives left behind, he’s just simon again, the boy who belonged with you.

. ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ an. i know the tap-out tradition isn’t common in the uk and is usually done at the airforce but oh well. read part 2 here.

[luxcuriousao3]

The first time Ghost sees you, you're tending to a mangy, feral mutt that haunts the base, snapping and snarling at anyone that gets too close. The other soldiers joke about it being Ghost's spirit animal often. It bites you, even though all you're trying to do is help. But you don't lash out defensively, or turn your back on it. You see through its angry mask for what it really is--a scared, hurt creature that just needs someone to love it enough to make it feel safe again. And you do. You sit with that flea-bitten, ill tempered dog, feeding it treats and talking to it softly, until it finally calms enough to let you help it. You're patient, and kind, and gentle. Everything the dumb beast has been missing for so long.

Christ, but he wishes he was the bloody dog.

[softaestluv]

I've been thinking about this for a while, but could you write a drabble or something about Simon's reaction to you trying to sleep on the couch after a fight?

Would he be mad and fight with you more or drag you to bed or silently let you sleep on the couch??

lmk × ×

It’s rare the two of you fight.

Argue? Sure.

Purposefully annoy each other? Definitely. Simon loves crawling under your skin just so he can watch you ride your frustrations out on his cock. He can’t help it, you’re cute.

But fighting? Petty comments, growling harsh words at each other, suffocating tension, silent treatment, and stubborn avoidance? You and Simon don’t do that.

Simon admits, he’s not exactly the easiest person to date, but you’re incredibly patient with him, even when he’s not communicating the way you need him to.

He’s a work in progress.

So, when you walk out of the shower, tugging on one of his oversized shirts, he thinks you’ll crawl into bed next to him like always. Instead, you grab your pillow, an extra blanket, and leave the room. Riley follows behind you, his own dog betraying him.

You have to be teasing, trying to teach him some lesson, remind him what it feels like to sleep in an empty bed if he doesn’t straighten up. He should be the one out there, sleeping in the dog house.

He lets you lay out there for exactly 12 minutes.

When he scoops you up, you pretend you’re asleep. Even when he lays you down on your side of the bed and slides in, you keep up the act.

“Oy,” He grumbles, pinching your cheek lightly, “I know you’re awake, dove.”

A breath of a smile twitches at the corners of your lips, but you turn your face into the pillow. No problem, he hoists you in his lap easy enough, pressed against the bed frame, and rests his hands on your spread thighs.

“Why the bloody hell you sleepin’ out there?”

You scowl at him, “Don’t wanna sleep with you.”

“No?” He tilts his head, smoothing his palms under your, his, shirt, “Why not, pretty girl?”

“Mad at you.”

He huffs a laugh, “Wearin’ my shirt, but don’t wan’ sleep with me?”

You start to peel the shirt off begrudgingly, but he swats your hands away, holding you in place with his thumb on your chin.

“ ‘nough of that. What kinda man d’ya think I am? Letting my bird sleep on a bloody sofa.” He says, “Send me out there.”

“But your feet hang off the edge.” You frown and it tightens his chest, even when you’re mad you’re thinking of his comfort.

He’d wake up with a hunched back and cramped legs if it made you happy.

“Exactly, ‘ts why we both belong right here.” He pats the mattress, scooting back down the bed to lay down, holding you against his chest. He presses his lips against the crown of your head, “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

[jaesblogstuff]

Early morning shenanigans

cw: somnophilia-adjacent

3:07 a.m.

You feel him before you hear him. Broad chest pressed into your back, thigh nudging between yours under the sheets. His hand slides across your waist, firm, certain.

“Turn over.”

It’s low. Rough. Not a question.

You blink, still dazed with sleep. “Simon—what—?”

“To your side, sweetheart.” His voice is deeper than usual, coated in something hot and lazy and fucking dangerous. “Need you like this.”

You roll without thinking. Your body always listens to him first. The second your thigh hikes forward and your spine curves, he’s already there fitting behind you, bare skin against bare skin, cock thick and hard, sliding between your legs like he’s been grinding against you for hours.

“Fuck,” he groans, like the heat of you ruins him. His hand slips between your thighs, fingers stroking through the slick mess between them. “You were already wet for me, weren’t you?”

You whimper, caught between sleep and need, pushing back into him without shame. “Simon—”

“Shh.” His mouth is at your ear now. Teeth scrape. Tongue soothes. “S’just me, yeah? Let me fuck you slow.”

He doesn’t give you time to beg. Just tilts your hips and presses in—slow, steady, all of him. The stretch makes your breath stutter. You clutch the pillow as his hand comes to your throat, soft but heavy, holding you there while his cock sinks deeper.

“That’s it. There she is.” He’s fucking you like he missed you. Like you weren’t already in his arms. The sounds are obscene in the quiet, slick and wet, the soft drag of his cock inside you, the creak of the mattress with every slow grind of his hips. The bed creaks with each grind of his hips, your soaked cunt dragging him back in every time he pulls out.

His hand drags up, cups your jaw, tilts your face back toward his mouth.

“Love you like this,” he breathes. “Warm, soft, still dreamin’.”

You come like that. Half-asleep and full of him, biting down on a moan while he holds you through it, hips rolling, mouth at your throat. And he doesn’t stop until he’s buried deep, groaning against your skin like it splits him open.

You fall asleep with him still inside you, cock softening slow, arms wrapped around your body.

[abusivegymrat]

Embarrassing things Ghost has gotten hard for before;

Warning(?): sometimes it’s okay to write about being the mc and the center of attention🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️😖😖 if i write it while cringing u will read it while cringing period. We love things that r hard to read.

1. You were in a briefing where you weren’t allowed phones, and when the other lieutenant on duty turned at you, you immediately took your phone and buried it between those thick delicious thighs. Bury his head, please.

2. When you dominated him in training, wrestled your way out from under him and kicked him face first onto the floor, stepping on his back. It felt like a foot job, tbh.

3. When you manhandled someone else. See, all the younger recruits are like siblings to you, especially women. You once saw one of them crying because she was “too heavy” for her man so you just picked her up and threw her over your shoulder. He felt saliva building up in his mouth when he saw the muscles in your arms ripple.

4. Whenever you get tasked to do a debrief, because he could watch you talk all day. And when he stares at you for too long, his mind wanders off into dangerous territory. Can’t help it.

5. Apparently fireman carried him away from fire when he was unconscious, Soap won’t shut his bitch ass up about it.

Meh sorry

[0nonjudgement0]

Simon who meets your family for the first time and immediately knows something is wrong.

It’s not obvious, no. When you talked about your family, he was even a little jealous. A mum, a pa, siblings, and some extended family that you saw. Something he didn’t quite have anymore, never had in the first place.

But when you invited him to join your family for the holiday, since they just desperately wanted to meet the man that stole their hearts, he couldn’t deny you. He never could.

He knew something was off the moment you were both on the doorstep, holding dishes and small gifts for a white elephant, all that you picked out, of course. You seemed abnormally tense, murmuring something about having to make sure your sibling didn’t start a problem.

It became more apparent when you both walked through the door, mother greeting with a sickle kind of sweetness while your father stayed quiet on the couch, watching him with a different kind of weight that fathers usually held when their daughters brought home a boy. It was like he knew he should do something, but didn’t. He didn’t miss the way your face dropped and you tensed when your brother back talked your mum either. A tense quiet of you staring down your brother before offering her a drink, which of course she agreed to.

Which you also had to get while setting the gifts completely out of the way, picking up loose trash. He followed close behind you as you handed over the drink to your mum, of course, folding through the doorways of your childhood home like a poorly made origami creation. A few cabinets of the kitchen you were in didn’t have doors. On the fridge, there was only a few things of yours that he could pick out were pinned up: a low-quality photo of you at your high school graduation and a magnet holding it up that he knew you had sent them after your last vacation. Both were semi-covered by the other pictures and letters and cards pinned to the fridge.

Simon started wandering the halls once he realized you were too busy talking your mom down from a ledge he couldn’t locate, your siblings were too busy on their phones or making messes, and your father was seemingly looking into another dimension or half asleep. Very little family photos hung up, but one managed to grab his attention—because you were in it. Young, a kid, so joyful yet tense, in a photo with your parents and your brother, seemingly older. The frame was crooked. A hair-line fracture poked a few inches out from under the picture, scraping the pain. He barely had to move it to find the giant hole in the wall. Made by a fist smaller than his own but bigger than anyone in the house.

He found quite a few—some weren’t hidden that well. Under christmas cards from seven years ago, molding of a doorframe having a chunk missing, hinges near it suggesting there used to be a door. Others had been patched up, paint matching if you weren’t looking for it. There was a big lack of you here. Even in your supposed bedroom, which was later shared at the dinner table they had taken out a lot of the “junk” that you had left when you moved out.

He could make out the little raise in your brows, and the way your throat worked to fight down the food you had eaten. They had thrown it away like nothing, mum waving you off when you mentioned something about some stuffed animals you had. You had been too old once you had those anyway.

Some more snide comments were made, frog sitting in water as the heat was turned up. Siblings being snappy, pa getting unnerved, mum losing it, his girl staying quiet. He also stayed quiet as your mum yelled and screamed about other people’s mistakes, reverting them back to you. Not being around enough, being messy, being you because you wasn’t what she wanted in a daughter.

He stood up abruptly, tugging you up with him.

The drive back to the flat was quiet, with you seeming smaller than ever in the passenger seat, quietly crying but trying to be humble about it.

He didn’t need to know anything because he saw it.

[empresskylo]

simon riley not being the best at expressing himself. he knows he doesn’t tell you he loves you nearly enough. but god, does he show it.

he reads you so fucking easily, can instantly tell when you’re not yourself. his arms are wrapping tightly around you, “s’matter love?” and he won’t take “nothing” as an answer. he will scoop you up into his arms, hug you closely, plant kisses on your forehead, whatever it is you need. he just wants to comfort you.

he can tell when you're nervous, decipher all your little ministrations. he won't always say anything. sometimes he will just walk over, wrap his arms around you, and squeeze you against his chest. or if you're in public, his hand will find yours and tug you against him. or his hand will rest on your thigh, drawing little patterns with his thumb.

and he's always touching you. when you're just standing around somewhere, talking, he'll randomly grab your belt loops and pull you close to him. he loves to run his fingers through your hair and will often play with it when you're lying in bed together or sitting on the couch. plays with your necklace when you're talking to him. he'll grab your foot when you're sprawled on the couch and tug you closer. tugs you against him when you're both sleeping, his arm solid across your hip.

and he just understands you so well. he pays attention. he knows how you like your coffee. knows your favorite flower. your favorite band. knows all your little mannerisms. knows exactly how to make you laugh. knows all the ways you like to be shown love. knows how you like to be touched and talked to.

so while he doesn't express his love always verbally, he shows it in literally every other way possible.

[simonz-angel]

can we just imagine painter simon… who loves his accuracy

“open your legs up, love.”

it’s a soft command, one that rolls off his tongue coated in a sugary, sweet accent. a soft whisper, eyes scanning the area of your bare legs, flickering to the slack of your breasts.

“i- you know what i look like, si,” you breathe low, a soft flush peppering your cheeks till it slips down your neck. you’d been together years now, yet you couldn’t help to shy away from his wandering eyes. they trace, map and memorize. he was dragging, tittering you up into embarrassment.

“nice ‘n’ wide fr’me, honey, it’s a portrait of you, it has to show perfection.” n his blonde lashes flutter, the candied soft brown of his eyes meet yours. you can’t help the hesitation, a sticky mess coats your inner thighs. he’d been staring so deep into his precision, it had your self esteem rolling, had your pussy drooling.

your head rolls slowly, heart skittering nervously as your doughy thighs part themselves slowly. you can’t help the burn of your cheeks, stomach sucking in a deep breath as fresh air hits you cold.

n there’s a soft chuckle, simon was in awe. staring at the pretty mess of your pussy, you’d been embarrassed and he’d been obsessed, suddenly parched and in need of a slick hydration. “don’t be so shy now, baby, you seem pretty excited to be here.”

and he’d be more than sure to add the white highlights to the canvas, accentuating that sparkling, glossy mess covering your soft thighs, dripping down into the crease beneath the sweet opening of your cunnie.

like like is it just me or like…. like…

[op1umeyes]

imagine ur bd being out of the picture and your little girl running up to si ☹️🤍

   “Daddy!”

   Simon looked down, eyes wide at the little girl wrapped around his right leg. Johnny eyed him carefully. He was thankful none of the other café patrons paid any mind. “I’m not your daddy, love,” Simon said. He tugged his leg away gently but the strength of a child is hard to match.

     “Annalise, get off that man,” a woman cried. In the blink of an eye, she knelt near Simon’s leg and tugged the child away.

     “Dada!” She shrieked. Annalise’s chubby hands reached out for Simon’s. “Is dada, mama!”

     You shook your head. “I- I’m so sorry, sir. Her dad was in the military. Anna thinks everyone in fatigues is dada… Do you want me to get either of you a coffee to pay you back? I’m truly sorry.”

     Soap discreetly elbowed Simon harshly in the side. “‘M quite alrigh’ lass. Simon, here, would take a coffee if your serious. If you’ll excuse me, I got to go. Bye, little lassie,” the Scot rushed, face lightinf up at the way Annalise giggled as his parting.

     Annalise was still cooing and reaching for Simon. You just shifted her on your hip and rubbed her back. “Simon, yeah?”

     “That’s me, ma’am,” Simon nodded, feeling suddenly extremely exposed without the balaclava he had decided not to wear for one single occasion. “You don’t have to pay me back-“

     “Nonsense. I would feel like a bad person if I just let my kid latch herself onto your left and call you dad and then just swoop her up and leave,” you said, reaching for your wallet before walking over to the ordering counter. “What can I get you?”

     Simon ordered a small of his usual, watching you pull the money from your wallet without glancing at how much it costed. He observed you in that split second- a beautiful baby girl on your hip who thought any man in camo was her dad. So he had been in the service… Simon watched you smile kindly at the teen behind the counter who fumbled for your change. You murmured a quiet, “It’s quite alright, take your time.” A well-mannered, well put-together individual who was also very attractive. Simon knew what Johnny was doing when he left and Simon would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought you were a catch.

     “I seriously appreciate the coffee, ma’am, but it was unnecessary,” Simon said as you tucked your change back and waited for the drink. “As long as the kid’s alrigh’, I don’t need anything in return.”

     You smiled. You smiled at Simon and he swore his cold heart jumped in his chest. Clearly your bright smile disarmed Annalise as much as Simon because she let out a bubbly laugh and put her hands on your cheek. “What if I said I wanted to?” You asked coyly.

     Simon watched Annalise play with a baby hair near your face. “Then I’d say it’d be a cruel thing to tell a gorgeous woman no.”

[aary-soap]

Twisted dejavu

Inspired by this amazing fic “Mockingbird” and the og Ghost backstory comic

(Warning?? i guess??: Ghost comic images ahead)

Joseph based on the comic Joseph, and i noticed the little plane so had to add it ahahaha *cries* we love angst in this household 🫠

[mcntsee]

me when i get asked why i suddenly dislike a character (i can’t tell them it’s because i read a fanfic where said character made y/n’s life miserable and now i have personal beef with them)

[itsoutrageouss]

Sitting on Simon’s face to shut him up?

It's when you think he gets too arrogant, too mouthy that you push Simon 'Ghost' Riley down by the shoulders. He could easily stop you and you both know it. But he welcomes it, a little taken aback by the sudden gesture but intrigued.

You had been arguing over yet another mission- he said you were too soft and sentimental, you said he was too cold and aloof. One day arguing had led to him hoisting you up against the wall and fucking you to prove a point. You guys had argued a lot more since then.

He lets himself lay down on the bed, feet still planted on the ground. It takes you 0.1 second to slip off your panties under your skirt before you're crawling over him, climbing him like a tree and slowly sitting yourself down

You manage to catch his eyes before his face disappears under your skirt. You think it might be love, the way he looks up at you.

And it worked because he doesn't say a single thing- no protest or thanks. He just gets to work, hands curling around your thighs, opening his warm mouth for you and letting his tongue delve into your cunt. Eventually there's a groan of appreciation that sends shivers up and down your spine, making you arch and simultaneously press yourself down onto his mouth harder. He sticks his tongue out in response, urging you to move by yourself with a tug on your hips.

It had been a ridiculous discussion where he'd been praising his skills far too much and yours far too little- but it melted from your mind as you rocked your hips over his face, feeling his nose nudge your clit.

He mumbles against you, slobbering and sucking diligently -doing his duty- serving his apology with gentle sucks on your clit.

His eyes are closed tightly. What had you been arguing about? And why exactly hadn't you shut him up like this before? And would you pretty please do it again?

He feels you drip down his chin and onto his neck, his brow furrowing as he groans. He wanted to actually eat you up, gently scraping his teeth on your sensitive clit as you cum all over his face. He was gonna piss you off more often now on purpose if this was how you'd punish him.