the worst part about being an adult is thay its no longer socially acceptable to just roll down a really big hill and then run back up it and roll back down again. "oh is this a syphilis metaphor" passerby would ask. "is this for a tick tock". no i just wanna come home covered in dirt and scratches and bask in the the solace of childlike mirth
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no multi option, agonize and choose, no results option, pick one to find out or scroll onward
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I love the head cannon that Ghost likes to stare a lot. Not at anything in particular, just staring.
Then he realizes that he really likes staring at you. He's fucking you in missionary, basically rocking both of your bodies and the bed with each deep and heavy thrust, putting his body weight into it. He's got his large hands planted beside your head, maybe your legs clenching on and off his hips as he thrusts.
Between your moaning and his fat dick making your pussy drool, you don't notice him staring into your face, huffing and groaning every now and then but otherwise quiet.
Between your moaning and crying about how good he feels, grasping onto his thick wrists for support as he pounds, you finally acknowledge him staring into your eyes.
"S... Simon?" You say breathlessly, being a little confused.
He stares a little longer before realizing what he's doing and shakes out of it, leaning down so your faces are right against each other, but not quite touching, slowing his thrusts down into a deeper, more loving pace, "You're fuckin' beautiful..." He whispers.
He captures your lips before you respond, not that you could with the way he's fucking and loving you.
His thrusts get sloppier, still deep and hard, his tongue intertwining with yours messily. You couldn't believe how much you turned him on by just being looked at.
Nor could he, yet here he was, groaning as one thick hand wrapped around the back of your neck, kissing you harder as he cums ropes inside of you.
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