#oj haywoof fic

[mcondance]

SHE — OJ HAYWOOD

"she, (she), she lives in daydreams with me, she's the first one that i see"

pairing oj haywood x Black! afab fem!reader

summary oj's stoic demeanor is long gone when he makes love with you.

contents oral (fem receiving), rlly rlly passionate lol, unprotected sex, praise but like.. in a very oj way, belly bulge but make it so fucking romantic, reader and oj are fucking whipped omg, creampie let's go, it's actually insane how in love they are like woah am i interrupting something..? coded language (core, clit), reader has afab! parts but there's no pronouns used

words 1.5k

notes reupload from my old blog. i wrote this in like one day. oj's just my silly little stoic man with a heart of pure gold. pls listen to "she" by harry styles while reading this omg. ignore the lyrics tho cause i only rlly relate the chorus and the sound of the song to this fic and to oj cause it's just one of them songs.

.

.

.

oj’s so good at making love to you.

he’s good from the beginning. good as he grinds against you slowly, kissing you just hard enough to leave you breathless but also wanting more. good when he pulls your shirt off along with his, eyes taking in your lack of a bra. good when he kisses down your body, pulls your shorts and underwear down your legs, leaving kisses on your thighs. 

he’s almost reverential with the way he handles you, the definition of passion as he spreads you open for his worshiping eyes, dips right down and licks a stripe up your core. he lets you squirm, knows just how fucked out you get when he goes down on you.

he moves up to focus on your clit, already puffy and aching to be touched. he doesn’t deny you any pleasure, slips his mouth around you clit and sucks, licking with it still in his mouth. your hands find his head to pull him closer and he just lets you, lets you damn near use him. 

he doesn’t mind. he never does.

even as your hips begin to move against his tongue, he keeps his movements steady, a low groan of “mhm, that’s right” leaving his mouth, nodding against you and sending waves of honey-like ecstasy through you. 

it’s always so maddening, endorphic, borderline insane when he goes down on you, sweet pleasure trickling through your veins until you’re like putty in his hands, hips barely able to continue their rocking motions against his determined tongue. no matter, though, he takes over when it gets to be too much, when your body can’t keep up with what he’s done to you. 

soft moans of his name slip past your lips and he knows what you mean, knows all too well that you’re about to reach that precious peak that he’s so willing to throw you off of. fingers join his tongue on your clit, rub in tight circles with the skill of a man you’ve known for years.

he lives for this, for this feeling ordained by the gods above. lives for the way your thighs close around his head, the way your hands try and fail to find purchase in his short curls. he loves making love to you in so many different ways, the knowledge that he’s yours and you’re his, that he is making love to you, makes his mind feel indescribably perfect. 

“oj, ‘m gonna—”

“i know, baby. you got it.” it’s a low murmur, paired with another nod and just a little more pressure on your clit with his tongue and fingers. he knows you like the back of his hand. he knows your whines, your whimpers, your short little breaths that he only hears right before you—

“you’re good, baby. give it to me.” and you do. hips roll over and over again against him, meet his dutiful moves against you, send you higher and higher and impossibly higher, until you’re not sure you’ll ever come down. you float like a fucking bird, wings lifted with the air of oj’s masterful, almost adoring, motions. it’s always like this, always so fucking sweet , mind-numbingly so. the saccharine pleasure drips throughout your veins, his soft groans of affirmation drifting to you as you lay suspended in the blissful madness he’s given you.

you come for oj in a way that’s so different, because the way in which he makes love to you is so different. and you love it.

you love it as he slows down to a stop, kisses your shaking thighs and fluttery stomach, making his way up to your softly heaving chest. he continues his pursuit, lifting up until your lips connect, transferring your taste to your lips. any other time, this would be filthy, the sharing of your taste on his tongue. but now, it’s so right, fits in perfectly with the way oj handles you. 

your hands make their way to the waistband of his jeans, pull the denim down along with his boxers and he finishes the job for you. you feel him, hard and heavy against your thigh, so turned on from just pleasing you. it’s always a gratifying experience, knowing that it’s you that makes him this way. no matter his exterior— the stoic cowboy, preferring horses over people, chooses his words carefully as though he’d die if he spoke too much— he loves you. you are the tear in his heart, that one thing that breaks down his walls. 

and you feel it when he entraps your lips in another kiss as you reach down between you two and line him up with your entrance as he groans at your touch, and he slides in with one smooth stroke, your body always open to him. you both can’t break the kiss for him to do anything other than thrust oh-so softly, movements barely there. but it’s enough, god it’s more than enough, because every touch, every fluttery glide of his hips against yours is like fucking magic, the shared love between you two heightening everything tenfold.

this is how oj makes love to you. face to face, your legs coming up to wrap around his waist as he pushes into you slow and deep, hits every single spot you need him to. he’s calculated with his moves, like he is with everything, hands balancing him above you as his chain bumps your chin with every forward stroke. kisses broken are reciprocated just as quickly, mere milliseconds separating every one. 

“you're so good, baby.” it’s genuine, his brain blanked and grasping for words to describe the feeling you always give him. whines meet him in response, you’re too far gone to manage anything else.

this feels almost criminal, the pureness of his love, reflected in his every move, in every kiss he places against your lips. his every thrust is on purpose, is meant to drive you wild, to somehow translate his love for you into something tangible. and it works. you feel it, feel what you know is impossible for him to say. 

you don’t speak much, dirty talk reserved for times other than now. now, is just him moving inside you, you pushing down against him. bodies together, lips locked in an almost infinite kiss. and then he shifts just a bit, brushing over that perfect spot. the whine that meets him in response, one from deep in your stomach, tells him all he needs to know.

“there we go.” he drawls, heavy accent making his words that much more insanity-inducing, goosebumps raising up on your heated skin as he directs his gaze to where you connect, eyes falling on the bulge that’s so prominent. “i’m right there, baby. you feel it?” he wears a slight smile, loves making love to you like this. 

“feel it, oj. feels so good .” another depraved whine meets his ears, words an abstract to you that you don’t think you’ll ever understand again. his pace is steady, building you up without ever moving past a slow grind. and you’re gonna come again.

“you close, baby?” he asks, knowing how much you love his voice, how you live for how he talks to you when you’re together like this, how even though he doesn’t have to say a word to get you this high, his voice can push you that much higher. you just nod, meet his lips again and moan into his mouth when his fingers meet your clit, rubbing those same brain-numbing circles from earlier. god he’s so good, so fucking good and this is it, you’re gonna come for him once again. 

“come on, baby, let me have it.” that’s all you need to hear. the pleasure pooling inside you overflows, spills over the edges of your being as you you’re dunked into it, mouth and nose and entire body filling up with the sweet feeling that oj has once again given to you. his praises float to your ears, a soft murmur of “that’s it, baby, you got it.” breaking through your syrupy delirium, pulling you even farther into what you can only feel as indescribable bliss. 

oj’s so close too, streams of shakes moving through his body as you come around him, your back arching into his chest, legs tightening around his waist. his head is tucked into your neck now, placing soft kisses against the skin there. he doesn’t have to say anything, because you know he’s almost there, turning your head to whisper into his ear, your turn to drive him absolutely mad. 

“come on, oj, need it, wanna feel you.” it leaves you as a moan, and it’s more than enough to drive him mad, his hips still moving slowly as he lets go just as you did, breath heavy, small groans escaping his mouth that’s still pressed into your neck. you hum as you feel him inside you, warmth filling your body and seeping into your bones. his lips meet yours again, kissing slow and soft, like always. you both don’t intend to move for a while, chests rising and falling in tandem as you soak in the afterglow of love, bodies close enough to fuse. this is your natural state, oj sinking love into your skin just for you to give it right back to him. 

this right here.. this is perfection. this is how oj makes love. 

[slippinninque]

This is just... EVERYTHING

SHE — OJ HAYWOOD

"she, (she), she lives in daydreams with me, she's the first one that i see"

pairing oj haywood x Black! afab fem!reader

summary oj's stoic demeanor is long gone when he makes love with you.

contents oral (fem receiving), rlly rlly passionate lol, unprotected sex, praise but like.. in a very oj way, belly bulge but make it so fucking romantic, reader and oj are fucking whipped omg, creampie let's go, it's actually insane how in love they are like woah am i interrupting something..? coded language (core, clit), reader has afab! parts but there's no pronouns used

words 1.5k

notes reupload from my old blog. i wrote this in like one day. oj's just my silly little stoic man with a heart of pure gold. pls listen to "she" by harry styles while reading this omg. ignore the lyrics tho cause i only rlly relate the chorus and the sound of the song to this fic and to oj cause it's just one of them songs.

.

.

.

oj’s so good at making love to you.

he’s good from the beginning. good as he grinds against you slowly, kissing you just hard enough to leave you breathless but also wanting more. good when he pulls your shirt off along with his, eyes taking in your lack of a bra. good when he kisses down your body, pulls your shorts and underwear down your legs, leaving kisses on your thighs. 

he’s almost reverential with the way he handles you, the definition of passion as spreads you open for his worshiping eyes, dips right down and licks a stripe up your core. he lets you squirm, knows just how fucked out you get when he goes down on you.

he moves up to focus on your clit, already puffy and aching to be touched. he doesn’t deny you any pleasure, slips his mouth around you clit and sucks, licking with it still in his mouth. your hands find his head to pull him closer and he just lets you, lets you damn near use him. 

he doesn’t mind. he never does.

even as your hips begin to move against his tongue, he keeps his movements steady, a low groan of “mhm, that’s right” leaving his mouth, nodding against you and sending waves of honey-like ecstasy through you. 

it’s always so maddening, endorphic, borderline insane when he goes down on you, sweet pleasure trickling through your veins until you’re like putty in his hands, hips barely able to continue their rocking motions against his determined tongue. no matter, though, he takes over when it gets to be too much, when your body can’t keep up with what he’s done to you. 

soft moans of his name slip past your lips and he knows what you mean, knows all too well that you’re about to reach that precious peak that he’s so willing to throw you off of. fingers join his tongue on your clit, rub in tight circles with the skill of a man you’ve known for years.

he lives for this, for this feeling ordained by the gods above. lives for the way your thighs close around his head, the way your hands try and fail to find purchase in his short curls. he loves making love to you in so many different ways, the knowledge that he’s yours and you’re his, that he is making love to you, makes his mind feel indescribably perfect. 

“oj, ‘m gonna—”

“i know, baby. you got it.” it’s a low murmur, paired with another nod and just a little more pressure on your clit with his tongue and fingers. he knows you like the back of his hand. he knows your whines, your whimpers, your short little breaths that he only hears right before you—

“you’re good, baby. give it to me.” and you do. hips roll over and over again against him, meet his dutiful moves against you, send you higher and higher and impossibly higher, until you’re not sure you’ll ever come down. you float like a fucking bird, wings lifted with the air of oj’s masterful, almost adoring, motions. it’s always like this, always so fucking sweet , mind-numbingly so. the saccharine pleasure drips throughout your veins, his soft groans of affirmation drifting to you as you lay suspended in the blissful madness he’s given you.

you come for oj in a way that’s so different, because the way in which he makes love to you is so different. and you love it.

you love it as he slows down to a stop, kisses your shaking thighs and fluttery stomach, making his way up to your softly heaving chest. he continues his pursuit, lifting up until your lips connect, transferring your taste to your lips. any other time, this would be filthy, the sharing of your taste on his tongue. but now, it’s so right, fits in perfectly with the way oj handles you. 

your hands make their way to the waistband of his jeans, pull the denim down along with his boxers and he finishes the job for you. you feel him, hard and heavy against your thigh, so turned on from just pleasing you. it’s always a gratifying experience, knowing that it’s you that makes him this way. no matter his exterior— the stoic cowboy, preferring horses over people, chooses his words carefully as though he’d die if he spoke too much— he loves you. you are the tear in his heart, that one thing that breaks down his walls. 

and you feel it when he entraps your lips in another kiss as you reach down between you two and line him up with your entrance as he groans at your touch, and he slides in with one smooth stroke, your body always open to him. you both can’t break the kiss for him to do anything other than thrust oh-so softly, movements barely there. but it’s enough, god it’s more than enough, because every touch, every fluttery glide of his hips against yours is like fucking magic, the shared love between you two heightening everything tenfold.

this is how oj makes love to you. face to face, your legs coming up to wrap around his waist as he pushes into you slow and deep, hits every single spot you need him to. he’s calculated with his moves, like he is with everything, hands balancing him above you as his chain bumps your chin with every forward stroke. kisses broken are reciprocated just as quickly, mere milliseconds separating every one. 

“you're so good, baby.” it’s genuine, his brain blanked and grasping for words to describe the feeling you always give him. whines meet him in response, you’re too far gone to manage anything else.

this feels almost criminal, the pureness of his love, reflected in his every move, in every kiss he places against your lips. his every thrust is on purpose, is meant to drive you wild, to somehow translate his love for you into something tangible. and it works. you feel it, feel what you know is impossible for him to say. 

you don’t speak much, dirty talk reserved for times other than now. now, is just him moving inside you, you pushing down against him. bodies together, lips locked in an almost infinite kiss. and then he shifts just a bit, brushing over that perfect spot. the whine that meets him in response, one from deep in your stomach, tells him all he needs to know.

“there we go.” he drawls, heavy accent making his words that much more insanity-inducing, goosebumps raising up on your heated skin as he directs his gaze to where you connect, eyes falling on the bulge that’s so prominent. “i’m right there, baby. you feel it?” he wears a slight smile, loves making love to you like this. 

“feel it, oj. feels so good .” another depraved whine meets his ears, words an abstract to you that you don’t think you’ll ever understand again. his pace is steady, building you up without ever moving past a slow grind. and you’re gonna come again.

“you close, baby?” he asks, knowing how much you love his voice, how you live for how he talks to you when you’re together like this, how even though he doesn’t have to say a word to get you this high, his voice can push you that much higher. you just nod, meet his lips again and moan into his mouth when his fingers meet your clit, rubbing those same brain-numbing circles from earlier. god he’s so good, so fucking good and this is it, you’re gonna come for him once again. 

“come on, baby, let me have it.” that’s all you need to hear. the pleasure pooling inside you overflows, spills over the edges of your being as you you’re dunked into it, mouth and nose and entire body filling up with the sweet feeling that oj has once again given to you. his praises float to your ears, a soft murmur of “that’s it, baby, you got it.” breaking through your syrupy delirium, pulling you even farther into what you can only feel as indescribable bliss. 

oj’s so close too, streams of shakes moving through his body as you come around him, your back arching into his chest, legs tightening around his waist. his head is tucked into your neck now, placing soft kisses against the skin there. he doesn’t have to say anything, because you know he’s almost there, turning your head to whisper into his ear, your turn to drive him absolutely mad. 

“come on, oj, need it, wanna feel you.” it leaves you as a moan, and it’s more than enough to drive him mad, his hips still moving slowly as he lets go just as you did, breath heavy, small groans escaping his mouth that’s still pressed into your neck. you hum as you feel him inside you, warmth filling your body and seeping into your bones. his lips meet yours again, kissing slow and soft, like always. you both don’t intend to move for a while, chests rising and falling in tandem as you soak in the afterglow of love, bodies close enough to fuse. this is your natural state, oj sinking love into your skin just for you to give it right back to him. 

this right here.. this is perfection. this is how oj makes love. 

[miyuhpapayuh]

Jesus.

SHE — OJ HAYWOOD

"she, (she), she lives in daydreams with me, she's the first one that i see"

pairing oj haywood x Black! afab fem!reader

summary oj's stoic demeanor is long gone when he makes love with you.

contents oral (fem receiving), rlly rlly passionate lol, unprotected sex, praise but like.. in a very oj way, belly bulge but make it so fucking romantic, reader and oj are fucking whipped omg, creampie let's go, it's actually insane how in love they are like woah am i interrupting something..? coded language (core, clit), reader has afab! parts but there's no pronouns used

words 1.5k

notes reupload from my old blog. i wrote this in like one day. oj's just my silly little stoic man with a heart of pure gold. pls listen to "she" by harry styles while reading this omg. ignore the lyrics tho cause i only rlly relate the chorus and the sound of the song to this fic and to oj cause it's just one of them songs.

.

.

.

oj’s so good at making love to you.

he’s good from the beginning. good as he grinds against you slowly, kissing you just hard enough to leave you breathless but also wanting more. good when he pulls your shirt off along with his, eyes taking in your lack of a bra. good when he kisses down your body, pulls your shorts and underwear down your legs, leaving kisses on your thighs. 

he’s almost reverential with the way he handles you, the definition of passion as spreads you open for his worshiping eyes, dips right down and licks a stripe up your core. he lets you squirm, knows just how fucked out you get when he goes down on you.

he moves up to focus on your clit, already puffy and aching to be touched. he doesn’t deny you any pleasure, slips his mouth around you clit and sucks, licking with it still in his mouth. your hands find his head to pull him closer and he just lets you, lets you damn near use him. 

he doesn’t mind. he never does.

even as your hips begin to move against his tongue, he keeps his movements steady, a low groan of “mhm, that’s right” leaving his mouth, nodding against you and sending waves of honey-like ecstasy through you. 

it’s always so maddening, endorphic, borderline insane when he goes down on you, sweet pleasure trickling through your veins until you’re like putty in his hands, hips barely able to continue their rocking motions against his determined tongue. no matter, though, he takes over when it gets to be too much, when your body can’t keep up with what he’s done to you. 

soft moans of his name slip past your lips and he knows what you mean, knows all too well that you’re about to reach that precious peak that he’s so willing to throw you off of. fingers join his tongue on your clit, rub in tight circles with the skill of a man you’ve known for years.

he lives for this, for this feeling ordained by the gods above. lives for the way your thighs close around his head, the way your hands try and fail to find purchase in his short curls. he loves making love to you in so many different ways, the knowledge that he’s yours and you’re his, that he is making love to you, makes his mind feel indescribably perfect. 

“oj, ‘m gonna—”

“i know, baby. you got it.” it’s a low murmur, paired with another nod and just a little more pressure on your clit with his tongue and fingers. he knows you like the back of his hand. he knows your whines, your whimpers, your short little breaths that he only hears right before you—

“you’re good, baby. give it to me.” and you do. hips roll over and over again against him, meet his dutiful moves against you, send you higher and higher and impossibly higher, until you’re not sure you’ll ever come down. you float like a fucking bird, wings lifted with the air of oj’s masterful, almost adoring, motions. it’s always like this, always so fucking sweet , mind-numbingly so. the saccharine pleasure drips throughout your veins, his soft groans of affirmation drifting to you as you lay suspended in the blissful madness he’s given you.

you come for oj in a way that’s so different, because the way in which he makes love to you is so different. and you love it.

you love it as he slows down to a stop, kisses your shaking thighs and fluttery stomach, making his way up to your softly heaving chest. he continues his pursuit, lifting up until your lips connect, transferring your taste to your lips. any other time, this would be filthy, the sharing of your taste on his tongue. but now, it’s so right, fits in perfectly with the way oj handles you. 

your hands make their way to the waistband of his jeans, pull the denim down along with his boxers and he finishes the job for you. you feel him, hard and heavy against your thigh, so turned on from just pleasing you. it’s always a gratifying experience, knowing that it’s you that makes him this way. no matter his exterior— the stoic cowboy, preferring horses over people, chooses his words carefully as though he’d die if he spoke too much— he loves you. you are the tear in his heart, that one thing that breaks down his walls. 

and you feel it when he entraps your lips in another kiss as you reach down between you two and line him up with your entrance as he groans at your touch, and he slides in with one smooth stroke, your body always open to him. you both can’t break the kiss for him to do anything other than thrust oh-so softly, movements barely there. but it’s enough, god it’s more than enough, because every touch, every fluttery glide of his hips against yours is like fucking magic, the shared love between you two heightening everything tenfold.

this is how oj makes love to you. face to face, your legs coming up to wrap around his waist as he pushes into you slow and deep, hits every single spot you need him to. he’s calculated with his moves, like he is with everything, hands balancing him above you as his chain bumps your chin with every forward stroke. kisses broken are reciprocated just as quickly, mere milliseconds separating every one. 

“you're so good, baby.” it’s genuine, his brain blanked and grasping for words to describe the feeling you always give him. whines meet him in response, you’re too far gone to manage anything else.

this feels almost criminal, the pureness of his love, reflected in his every move, in every kiss he places against your lips. his every thrust is on purpose, is meant to drive you wild, to somehow translate his love for you into something tangible. and it works. you feel it, feel what you know is impossible for him to say. 

you don’t speak much, dirty talk reserved for times other than now. now, is just him moving inside you, you pushing down against him. bodies together, lips locked in an almost infinite kiss. and then he shifts just a bit, brushing over that perfect spot. the whine that meets him in response, one from deep in your stomach, tells him all he needs to know.

“there we go.” he drawls, heavy accent making his words that much more insanity-inducing, goosebumps raising up on your heated skin as he directs his gaze to where you connect, eyes falling on the bulge that’s so prominent. “i’m right there, baby. you feel it?” he wears a slight smile, loves making love to you like this. 

“feel it, oj. feels so good .” another depraved whine meets his ears, words an abstract to you that you don’t think you’ll ever understand again. his pace is steady, building you up without ever moving past a slow grind. and you’re gonna come again.

“you close, baby?” he asks, knowing how much you love his voice, how you live for how he talks to you when you’re together like this, how even though he doesn’t have to say a word to get you this high, his voice can push you that much higher. you just nod, meet his lips again and moan into his mouth when his fingers meet your clit, rubbing those same brain-numbing circles from earlier. god he’s so good, so fucking good and this is it, you’re gonna come for him once again. 

“come on, baby, let me have it.” that’s all you need to hear. the pleasure pooling inside you overflows, spills over the edges of your being as you you’re dunked into it, mouth and nose and entire body filling up with the sweet feeling that oj has once again given to you. his praises float to your ears, a soft murmur of “that’s it, baby, you got it.” breaking through your syrupy delirium, pulling you even farther into what you can only feel as indescribable bliss. 

oj’s so close too, streams of shakes moving through his body as you come around him, your back arching into his chest, legs tightening around his waist. his head is tucked into your neck now, placing soft kisses against the skin there. he doesn’t have to say anything, because you know he’s almost there, turning your head to whisper into his ear, your turn to drive him absolutely mad. 

“come on, oj, need it, wanna feel you.” it leaves you as a moan, and it’s more than enough to drive him mad, his hips still moving slowly as he lets go just as you did, breath heavy, small groans escaping his mouth that’s still pressed into your neck. you hum as you feel him inside you, warmth filling your body and seeping into your bones. his lips meet yours again, kissing slow and soft, like always. you both don’t intend to move for a while, chests rising and falling in tandem as you soak in the afterglow of love, bodies close enough to fuse. this is your natural state, oj sinking love into your skin just for you to give it right back to him. 

this right here.. this is perfection. this is how oj makes love. 

[miyuhpapayuh]

Ugh, how sweet this was!!

SHE — OJ HAYWOOD

"she, (she), she lives in daydreams with me, she's the first one that i see"

pairing oj haywood x Black! afab fem!reader

summary oj's stoic demeanor is long gone when he makes love with you.

contents oral (fem receiving), rlly rlly passionate lol, unprotected sex, praise but like.. in a very oj way, belly bulge but make it so fucking romantic, reader and oj are fucking whipped omg, creampie let's go, it's actually insane how in love they are like woah am i interrupting something..? coded language (core, clit), reader has afab! parts but there's no pronouns used

words 1.5k

notes reupload from my old blog. i wrote this in like one day. oj's just my silly little stoic man with a heart of pure gold. pls listen to "she" by harry styles while reading this omg. ignore the lyrics tho cause i only rlly relate the chorus and the sound of the song to this fic and to oj cause it's just one of them songs.

.

.

.

oj’s so good at making love to you.

he’s good from the beginning. good as he grinds against you slowly, kissing you just hard enough to leave you breathless but also wanting more. good when he pulls your shirt off along with his, eyes taking in your lack of a bra. good when he kisses down your body, pulls your shorts and underwear down your legs, leaving kisses on your thighs. 

he’s almost reverential with the way he handles you, the definition of passion as spreads you open for his worshiping eyes, dips right down and licks a stripe up your core. he lets you squirm, knows just how fucked out you get when he goes down on you.

he moves up to focus on your clit, already puffy and aching to be touched. he doesn’t deny you any pleasure, slips his mouth around you clit and sucks, licking with it still in his mouth. your hands find his head to pull him closer and he just lets you, lets you damn near use him. 

he doesn’t mind. he never does.

even as your hips begin to move against his tongue, he keeps his movements steady, a low groan of “mhm, that’s right” leaving his mouth, nodding against you and sending waves of honey-like ecstasy through you. 

it’s always so maddening, endorphic, borderline insane when he goes down on you, sweet pleasure trickling through your veins until you’re like putty in his hands, hips barely able to continue their rocking motions against his determined tongue. no matter, though, he takes over when it gets to be too much, when your body can’t keep up with what he’s done to you. 

soft moans of his name slip past your lips and he knows what you mean, knows all too well that you’re about to reach that precious peak that he’s so willing to throw you off of. fingers join his tongue on your clit, rub in tight circles with the skill of a man you’ve known for years.

he lives for this, for this feeling ordained by the gods above. lives for the way your thighs close around his head, the way your hands try and fail to find purchase in his short curls. he loves making love to you in so many different ways, the knowledge that he’s yours and you’re his, that he is making love to you, makes his mind feel indescribably perfect. 

“oj, ‘m gonna—”

“i know, baby. you got it.” it’s a low murmur, paired with another nod and just a little more pressure on your clit with his tongue and fingers. he knows you like the back of his hand. he knows your whines, your whimpers, your short little breaths that he only hears right before you—

“you’re good, baby. give it to me.” and you do. hips roll over and over again against him, meet his dutiful moves against you, send you higher and higher and impossibly higher, until you’re not sure you’ll ever come down. you float like a fucking bird, wings lifted with the air of oj’s masterful, almost adoring, motions. it’s always like this, always so fucking sweet , mind-numbingly so. the saccharine pleasure drips throughout your veins, his soft groans of affirmation drifting to you as you lay suspended in the blissful madness he’s given you.

you come for oj in a way that’s so different, because the way in which he makes love to you is so different. and you love it.

you love it as he slows down to a stop, kisses your shaking thighs and fluttery stomach, making his way up to your softly heaving chest. he continues his pursuit, lifting up until your lips connect, transferring your taste to your lips. any other time, this would be filthy, the sharing of your taste on his tongue. but now, it’s so right, fits in perfectly with the way oj handles you. 

your hands make their way to the waistband of his jeans, pull the denim down along with his boxers and he finishes the job for you. you feel him, hard and heavy against your thigh, so turned on from just pleasing you. it’s always a gratifying experience, knowing that it’s you that makes him this way. no matter his exterior— the stoic cowboy, preferring horses over people, chooses his words carefully as though he’d die if he spoke too much— he loves you. you are the tear in his heart, that one thing that breaks down his walls. 

and you feel it when he entraps your lips in another kiss as you reach down between you two and line him up with your entrance as he groans at your touch, and he slides in with one smooth stroke, your body always open to him. you both can’t break the kiss for him to do anything other than thrust oh-so softly, movements barely there. but it’s enough, god it’s more than enough, because every touch, every fluttery glide of his hips against yours is like fucking magic, the shared love between you two heightening everything tenfold.

this is how oj makes love to you. face to face, your legs coming up to wrap around his waist as he pushes into you slow and deep, hits every single spot you need him to. he’s calculated with his moves, like he is with everything, hands balancing him above you as his chain bumps your chin with every forward stroke. kisses broken are reciprocated just as quickly, mere milliseconds separating every one. 

“you're so good, baby.” it’s genuine, his brain blanked and grasping for words to describe the feeling you always give him. whines meet him in response, you’re too far gone to manage anything else.

this feels almost criminal, the pureness of his love, reflected in his every move, in every kiss he places against your lips. his every thrust is on purpose, is meant to drive you wild, to somehow translate his love for you into something tangible. and it works. you feel it, feel what you know is impossible for him to say. 

you don’t speak much, dirty talk reserved for times other than now. now, is just him moving inside you, you pushing down against him. bodies together, lips locked in an almost infinite kiss. and then he shifts just a bit, brushing over that perfect spot. the whine that meets him in response, one from deep in your stomach, tells him all he needs to know.

“there we go.” he drawls, heavy accent making his words that much more insanity-inducing, goosebumps raising up on your heated skin as he directs his gaze to where you connect, eyes falling on the bulge that’s so prominent. “i’m right there, baby. you feel it?” he wears a slight smile, loves making love to you like this. 

“feel it, oj. feels so good .” another depraved whine meets his ears, words an abstract to you that you don’t think you’ll ever understand again. his pace is steady, building you up without ever moving past a slow grind. and you’re gonna come again.

“you close, baby?” he asks, knowing how much you love his voice, how you live for how he talks to you when you’re together like this, how even though he doesn’t have to say a word to get you this high, his voice can push you that much higher. you just nod, meet his lips again and moan into his mouth when his fingers meet your clit, rubbing those same brain-numbing circles from earlier. god he’s so good, so fucking good and this is it, you’re gonna come for him once again. 

“come on, baby, let me have it.” that’s all you need to hear. the pleasure pooling inside you overflows, spills over the edges of your being as you you’re dunked into it, mouth and nose and entire body filling up with the sweet feeling that oj has once again given to you. his praises float to your ears, a soft murmur of “that’s it, baby, you got it.” breaking through your syrupy delirium, pulling you even farther into what you can only feel as indescribable bliss. 

oj’s so close too, streams of shakes moving through his body as you come around him, your back arching into his chest, legs tightening around his waist. his head is tucked into your neck now, placing soft kisses against the skin there. he doesn’t have to say anything, because you know he’s almost there, turning your head to whisper into his ear, your turn to drive him absolutely mad. 

“come on, oj, need it, wanna feel you.” it leaves you as a moan, and it’s more than enough to drive him mad, his hips still moving slowly as he lets go just as you did, breath heavy, small groans escaping his mouth that’s still pressed into your neck. you hum as you feel him inside you, warmth filling your body and seeping into your bones. his lips meet yours again, kissing slow and soft, like always. you both don’t intend to move for a while, chests rising and falling in tandem as you soak in the afterglow of love, bodies close enough to fuse. this is your natural state, oj sinking love into your skin just for you to give it right back to him. 

this right here.. this is perfection. this is how oj makes love.