“Nam…Ah! Namjoon, fuck” You gasped into the air. “Mmh, shit, baby keep going, you’re so fucking sexy, riding me like that.” He groaned, bucking his hips upward, in perfect sync with your hips impacting onto his, causing an erotic slapping sound to echo throughout the dimly lit room.
Right now, you and Namjoon were relieving the stress that was pent up in both of you. And god damn, was it good. He was gripping your hips as if you were going to disappear as soon as he released himself inside of your sweaty, bouncing body. You were enjoying this the most though, holding onto his shoulders and digging your nails into them, holding on for dear life as you grinded your hips onto his throbbing cock inside of you.
As soon as you started losing feeling in your legs, you realized how close you were to coming undone.
Opening your eyes and looking down at your boyfriend, you bit your lips to hold back a large moan bubbling up in your throat. His face was churned in arousal, and he was breathing so hard you’d think he couldn’t breathe at all. He was moaning your name even louder with each impact you made with his dick.
“Namjoon, I… I’m going to cum…” You almost screamed. He gripped your hips even tighter, slamming his hips upward even harder, faster. He was going wild.
“Go ahead baby, cum all over Oppa’s cock.” He sighed into your shoulder. The feeling of his hot breathing on your skin, his raspy voice whispering various profanities as you rolled your hips to chase your orgasm.
Throwing your head back, you let out a loud moan, drool rolling down your chin from your tongue coming out of your mouth.
“Fuck baby, you’re so fucking hot like this. Cumming all over me, screaming my fuck…. fucking name.” He praises, slamming his hips into you even harder.
Suddenly, your vision went white as he slammed into you one more time, with more force than you had ever felt before. Judging by the loud groan of your name coming out of his mouth and the warm substance that you felt inside of you, he had just had a mind blowing orgasm. Not as mind blowing as yours, though.
You fell onto his chest, causing him to fall backwards onto the bed. Both sweating and panting, you held each other’s hands. Lifting yourself up a bit, you let his now softening dick out of you, hissing and the feeling of his cum dripping out of you.
“You did so good…” Namjoon said softly, rubbing your back. “Thank… thank you….” You said, emitting a small hiss of pain when his hand went over the large purple bruise forming on your hip.
“Fuck, I’m sorry baby, I didn’t mean to grab you that hard. Are you okay?” He said, his once raspy voice now filled with concern.
“Y-yeah I’m fine. Jeez, you could have at least lightened your grip a tiny bit.” You chuckled, entangling your arms onto his neck.
“How can I hold back anything when I have someone as beautiful as you riding me like there’s no tomorrow.” He said sweetly, massaging the bruises and kissing your forehead.
“Thanks for the compliment.” You said, slipping into a hazy sleep.
“No problem baby…. I love you” He whispered, smiling at the feeling of your soft breathing on his chest.
“I love you too.” You muttered, smiling as you fell asleep.
Summary: It’s Marisa’s last night in America before going
back home, and she wants to say goodbye to her sweet/cute/rough American boyfriend properly
(on the Johnson High School football field in Gainesville… at midnight… with no
Notes: This is called ‘Sweet One’ because 1) Twink AJ is a
sweet one 2) I use ‘sweet one’ as an endearment too damn much 3) I wrote this for
a particularly sweet one on here –
this is for @ajstylesworld, who I promised
I’d write this for AGES AGO (and I’m sorry if it really, really sucks – I tried
so hard *cries*), and with a big thank you to @llowkeys who is also my sweet one xxx
Warnings: High School smut time, sort-of public sex (though,
no one sees them… apart from us, I guess…), mentions of Christianity,
pre-marital sex, me trying to pretend I know how US High Schools work. Also, typos forever.
Have you ever had someone lay their fingers along the spaces between your ribs and squeeze? Really find those fleshy bits between the bones and just curl into them? I have. The thing is, you can’t help your natural reflex in reaction to that strange, visceral, intrusive feeling. Your body knows, “hey, I don’t think I should be touched there!” and so it flails wildly, almost manically, to protect your most vital organs, even if there’s no real threat.
My wife loves the spaces between my ribs, but has kindly refrained from squeezing them since I’ve asked her to stop. Still. I’m a nervous person, and the guard just goes up sometimes – can’t help it.
The other night, we were laying in bed and cuddling, and I was about on the brink of passing out while baby lay curled over me. Her hand rested on my chest, her head lay nestled between my shoulder and my chin, and I was smelling her hair – a vague scent of shampoo, still a little wet from the shower. Everything felt warm and right and peaceful, but for the fact that (as exhausted as I was) baby was like a shaken up soda can of hyperactive lesbian. She was happily chatting away when her hand traveled a little lower, then circled around my side and her fingertips moved into those vulnerable little dips.
“Noooooooo,” I whined, and I yanked her hand away.
“But I can’t sleep!” She protested, laying her leg over mine and lifting her head to give me that wide-eyed, entreating look. “I won’t squeeze! I just want to count your ribs! It’s soothing.” I can never deny her anything when she gives me that look. (She has very long eyelashes and very blue eyes. It’s my kryptonite.)
So I let her hand go, cautiously, and relaxed a little bit. She teases and jokes, but she never lies to me, so I knew she’d at least stop herself from squeezing even though I know how much she loves it. She moved her hand back over to my rib cage and I took in a breath.
“You know,” I offered as her fingertips began to dance gently over each individual rib, “you could count sheep instead.”
And baby chuckled lowly, snuggling closer, warm and soft and sweet. And then she proceeded to say the most terrifying thing I’ve ever heard come out of her mouth, in a voice that sounded like it should have been wafting inexplicably down the halls of an abandoned building.
“There are no sheep here,” she whispered, “but there are plenty of your bones.”
And somehow that simple statement was more instinctively horrifying than the feeling of fingers in the spaces between your ribs. Turns out, it inspired the same reaction. I flailed, and she laughed and laughed and laughed until I was laughing too.