INCIDENTDROPOUT

♫ Would call you puppy most of the time, and add different adjectives in front of it, like good little puppy, obedient little puppy, sweet puppy, or bad puppy, stupid little pup.

♫ He will teach you some signs. For example, he sits on a chair or the edge of the bed, then he pats his inner thighs twice, and you’ll know it’s the meaning of serving him a blow job. Or when you guys are fucking, he taps your waist and you know he wants you to lift up your hips. When he pats your thighs it means he wants you to spread your legs wider and pull the cute pussy nicely for him.

♫ He loves bladder control, loves the moment when you finally surrender and lose control under him. He stops whatever he's doing, looking at you whether he's fingering, licking, or fucking. “Such a useless little puppy, couldn’t even control her pee properly hm? Pathetic.” You’re shaking so hard, he gives you a cup of water, wiping your tears and says “oh we’re not done yet pup, next round’s coming, fix yourself up.”

♫ Spanking, of course one of his methods to punish you. He bends you over his knees, “count f’me pup, miss one then we’ll start over from zero.” He always shifts his hand to your pussy and chuckles when he finds you’re already wet, probably will slide a finger in to touch your g-spot nicely.

♫ He spits. Yes he spits at your pussy and smear it. He spits in your mouth and let you swallow after kissing. He calls them rewards, “good puppies earn rewards and take whatever their owners give them.”

♫ He will play jazz during sex, fucking you with the rhythm and whisper something like “oh I love this part pup, do you love this part?” -> the part when you screaming his name so desperate, the part when the piano gets strongly intense.

♫ He knows what he’s talking, the expertise in both dirty talk and sweet talk. “Gonna cum like a stupid little pup, is that right? I want answers, are you gonna cum f’me? Yeah? Louder, good girl, give it to me.” And “squeezing me so hard, hmm gotta fuck my sweet baby nice and slow, until you forget everything but my name and this cock inside your pretty cunnie.”

♫ He would train you to hump his shoes while he’s composing the music or playing the piano. “You’re not working hard f’me at all huh, didn’t I tell you to pay attention to your clit, rub harder, you’ll get my cock only after you cum once (or twice) on my shoes.”

soldier boy who absolutely adores intox play. he likes you sober, sure, but when you're so fucked up you can barely form words? that's his shit right there.

"doll, c'mere." he rumbled one night, beckoning you over to the couch he was sitting on, patting the cushion next to him.

and you did, mostly because you were in charge of him while the rest of the boys had gone out to do god knows what. butcher promised they wouldn't be too long, but that was nearly three hours ago. knowing him, they wouldn't be back 'til the ass crack of dawn anyway. you didn't know whether that was a good or bad thing just yet.

"mm?" you hummed, sitting down on the couch next to him. in the background, some rerun of a shitty western played quietly. it was all that ever played when he got the remote.

"wanna try somethin'," he murmured, low and slow. he palms around on the side table before finding what he was looking for, which was a baggie. nearly full of white powder.

"oh, i don't—" you started, a flush already starting to creep up your neck from the implication. "i don't do.. drugs."

it was a half truth. the worst you'd ever done was weed, and it was more trouble than what it was worth. frenchie had talked you into smoking with him once, and you nearly threw up from how hard you coughed. he laughed, because he's an asshole, and tossed you a bottle of water all the same. that was months ago.

"relax, it ain't gonna bite you." he chuckled, eying you before turning his attention back to the baggie. he licked his finger, just his index, before dipping it into the powder.

you wanted to object, to tell him to knock it off and find something that didn't involve you to do like you'd done a million times before. but you just watched him, eyes darting from his fingers to his face.

"open," he grunted, but waited all of three seconds before his other hand caught your jaw, fingers pressing into your cheeks to force your mouth open himself. you made a surprised squeal, a hand flying up to his wrist to try and push him away.

he just ignored it, opting to swipe the finger dusted in coke along your gums, before letting you go.

"ben, what the fuck—" you spluttered, but the powder was already dissolving into the soft tissue of your gums. you wanted to be mad, to cuss him out and.. well, you aren't entirely sure what you wanted to do, now that you think about it.

you can feel your face go numb in record time, vision snapping into focus at the same time. okay, you could totally deal with this. probably. your heart fluttered against your ribcage, but you elected to ignore it.

"you can't just shove your fingers in my mouth like that," you huffed, though it lacked any real heat. hard to put venom in your voice when you're hyper aware of every little thing in the room at the moment.

"can't i?" he drawled, flashing that shit-eating grin that made you want to punch him. "cause i'm pretty sure i just did."

god, it was fucking hot in here all of a sudden. you shifted against the couch, trying to focus on the TV, your leg bouncing in time with your heartbeat. he watched from the corner of his eye, gauging your high.

"somethin' wrong? y'look a little wired, kid," he hummed, cocking his head to look at you. his gaze raked over you, taking in all the little newfound mannerisms.

"don't—" you hissed, shooting him a glare. all it did was make his grin sharpen. "don't fucking start."

the words came out a little more breathless than intended. you were trying your best to keep it together, because you knew he was doing this for his own benefit, but it was quickly spinning out of your control. story of your life, though.

he just holds his hands up in surrender, turning his attention back to the TV. you're thankful, because it buys you time to get a grip on the situation. despite you trying to just focus on the TV and let the coke wear off, your eyes dart to the baggie on the coffee table.

he notices, because of fucking course he does. he just grins.

"want some more?" he asks, like he's offering you literally anything else.

you should say no. hell, you want to say no, but your face is so fucking numb and your brain isn't working—

"yeah," you nod, scooting closer to him now.

instead of him licking his fingers, he jerks his head toward you.

"open," he murmurs, and you do. he slides his index finger past your lips, and you run your tongue along the pad. you don't break eye contact with him, either. "atta girl." he grins, before removing his finger.

you almost whine at the loss of contact, but he's quick in his actions. dips his finger in the powder, brings it back up to your mouth, and this time you don't need to be asked. you suck the dust off his finger, pupils blown the size of saturn. when you decide there's nothing else left, you pull off with a wet pop.

you barely realize your proximity until he's practically nose to nose with you, and you don't push him away either. in his mind, that's enough of a yes for him. his lips crash against yours, teeth nearly clacking together from the force of it, all tongue and heat. your hands find his hair, tangling in the brown strands and tugging him closer.

"knew you'd come around," he grinned against your mouth, rough palms sliding under your shirt and pushing you down until your back meets the couch cushions under you. "shame i had'ta get you all high first."

he slots a knee between your thighs, knocking them open enough for him to angle it against your cunt. it'd been hot in the motel, so you were wearing loose shorts. lucky him. the sensation made your vision swim at the corners, hips rutting against his knee before you could stop yourself.

"ben— fuck, 'm not-" you rasp, still trying to defend yourself, but it breaks into a moan when your hips roll up against his knee. everything feels like too much and not enough at the same time, and you can't find it in you to say no.

"sure you ain't, baby. that why you're humpin' my knee like a fuckin' mutt?" he sneers, driving his knee harder against you. you let out a loud moan in response, and suddenly you can't find the words to argue anymore.

and then he pulls away. you whine in protest, looking at him through bleary eyes, already missing the contact. he doesn't stay gone long, though, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your shorts and panties before giving a little tug.

"hips up," he commands, and you listen. he yanks the clothing down and tosses it aside, leaving you in nothing but a shirt, fully exposed from the waist down.

his hand replaces his knee, and you're almost certain you're gonna die. there's no warning, no easing you into it either. his index finger slides in, then his middle. your back arches clean off the couch with a loud moan, which only drives his fingers deeper. he grins, before starting a pace that makes you nearly crawl up the wall.

"ben- 's too much, slow— slow down," you manage to choke out, but he either doesn't hear you or doesn't care. you're pretty sure that when you do come, it's gonna give you a heart attack. or at least it feels like it.

"you can take it, honey. bet you could take a lot more'n that, too," he rasps, dropping his head to the crook of your neck, sucking a mark that you're sure will be deep purple when you check it in the morning.

when his fingers crook against you just right, brushing up against a spot that makes your head swim, you know you're fucked. you're so close that it hurts, and right when you're about to come—

he pulls his fingers out. you make a frustrated noise, barely aware of the fact you're already tearing up. it's not your fault, really; you're high out of your mind, and he's doing nothing but playing games. anyone else would do the same.

"shhh, gonna give ya somethin' better, don't worry," he murmurs, sweet to the point of condescension. he shifts over you, only stopping when his head is situated between your thighs.

his arms wrap around your thighs, keeping you held in place as he licks a stripe up your cunt, slow and methodical. you're lucky he's pinning you against the couch, or else you would've shot right off of it. he makes a low noise of satisfaction, before his mouth suctions around your clit, tongue lapping at you like a starved man.

you swear you can see stars in your peripheral.

"ohmygod—" you yelp, hands flying down to bury themselves in his hair, if only to give yourself something to anchor onto. you don't tug or press his face closer, just holding. "fuuuck- ben, please, i'm— jesus christ-"

this time, he doesn't pull away. you come in record time, your back arching off the couch, thighs threatening to clamp around his head if it weren't for his arms keeping you open. he works you through it, before pulling away with that shit eating— well, pussy eating, in this case— grin.

"see, was that so hard, sugar?" he rumbles, dragging his knuckles against your slick cunt just to watch you squirm.

you feel his hands grab at your hips, and your position changes. this time, you're on your stomach, and he drags your hips up to force you up on your knees. you hear his belt buckle click open, then a zipper. despite your better judgement, you throw a look over your shoulder, and you freeze.

he's got a hand wrapped around his cock, giving a few harsh tugs because he knows you're watching. that's the least of your concern, at the moment. the majority of your concern lies in his size. he's thick and huge and there's no fucking way you're gonna be able to fit him—

but then he's sliding his tip between the lips of your cunt, not quite pushing in just yet, instead rolling his hips forward until his tip nudges against your clit. you give a broken moan at the feeling, and any protest about his size dies on your tongue.

the problem is, he keeps doing it. by the third time, you're begging.

"ben, please- mm- quit teasin' 'n fuck me already—" you plead, and clearly that's what he was looking for, because he pulls back at that.

you're half scared he's not gonna fuck you at all until he's pushing inside, and you're certain you're gonna die. the stretch makes you nearly sob, entirely too much for your already oversensitive body. it makes no difference to him, though, because he doesn't stop until he's bottomed out, his hips pressed firm against your ass.

"fuuuck— so goddamn tight like this, could stay like this forever," he groans, a hand kneading at the fat of your ass before raising, coming back down with a harsh slap. "fuckin' made to take cock, aren't you, doll?"

you give a weak noise of agreement, and he takes that opportunity to pull out just enough to make you think he's done, before slamming back in. it punches a moan out of you, fingers digging into the fabric of the couch cushion below you just to have something to hold.

his pace is nothing short of brutal. the pain of him stretching you open dies down after a few good snaps of his hips, but the tears don't stop. you're overstimulated six ways to sunday, and already rapidly approaching your second orgasm of the night.

"ben- ben, i can't- fuck, please-" you babble, not even fully sure of what you're asking for. maybe to come, maybe for him to slow the fuck down and give you time to breathe, who's to say.

"you can, and you will," he growls behind you, your words earning you another sharp slap on the ass. you yelp, but he ignores it and shifts to find a new angle.

and god help him, he does. his hand wraps up and around your throat, pulling you up against his chest, the scruff of his beard brushing against your cheek. this position makes it feel like he's this close to hitting your lungs, and makes him hit just right against your g spot.

"don't cry, just let me make y'feel good," he murmurs, his voice like syrup in your ears despite him pounding into you like he hates your guts.

"please- please, ben, 's too much- fuck—" you whimper, but then his fingers are rubbing tight circles into your clit, and you're gone.

you tighten up around him, your body going taut as a wire, and you actually squirt. since when could you even do that? you don't have time to think about it because he shoves your head down into the couch cushions, his pace picking up and fucking you through it, like he's chasing his own orgasm now.

"fuck— there y'go, sweetheart, takin' it so fuckin' well," he rasps, and judging by the fact his movements are losing rhythm, he's not far behind you.

"gonna fill you up proper, doll- shit— " he groans, and he gets three good strokes before his hips stutter against yours, cock twitching as he finally comes inside you.

he stays like that for a while, letting you catch your breath while he does the same. when he finally does pulls out, you go slack against the couch, feeling his cum drip down between your thighs. he gives a breathless chuckle, patting your hip before standing up.

"did so good f'me, pretty girl," he murmurs, crouching down beside you to get a better look at you. "you still with me, sweet thing?"

you give a soft noise of acknowledgement, eyes cracking open enough to look at him. your face is streaked with tears, your hair is a fucking mess, and you're pretty sure you could sleep for a month after this.

ben's not domestic, not in the slightest. but he's also not a total asshole, contrary to popular belief. he lifts you up off the couch, shifting your weight in his arms until he's sure he won't drop you, and deposits you in his bed in the room over. he's wordless as he pulls the covers over you, just enough to make sure nobody sees you naked if they walk in.

"sleep it off, princess. you'll be fine in the mornin'."

and then he was gone, and you promptly fell asleep.

“…yes,” you whimper.

“Then fucking arch it.”

You sniffle. “Okay.”

He breaks character and huffs out a laugh as he watches you continue to helplessly stretch and squelch around him, making a creamy mess all along his shaft. He straightens his back, big hands now firmly grabbing your hips as he picks up the pace.

“Yeahh—stay right there,” his chest rumbles as he lets out a low, drawn-out groan. The smack of his hips growing louder, driving himself right into that little spot that won’t stop screaming for his attention.

It has his attention now.

The new angle had you whining into the pillow, absolutely reeling from how good he was at this, despite his complaints. He knows how to be rough. Nearly lifting you off the bed once he starts pulling your hips back, heavy balls smacking against your sensitive clit as he makes you meet each and every rough thrust he delivers.

“F-fuckk!” you choke out, barely able to form a coherent sentence as you start babbling out a bunch of words.

“So fuckin’ spoiled.” He complains, but just barely. “C’mon brat—you’ve been working me like a fuckin’ dog, give it to me already.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t believe you. You sound like you’re in heaven right now. “Mmhh—I love you so much.” His scowl deepens. “So, so much—you’re so fucking big.“

“Tch.” He grabs a handful of your hair, then yanks you back until you’re up against his chest, lips grazing your ear while muttering in it. “I don’t want an apology. What I want is for you to cum on my fuckin’ cock already. Or should I just stop?”

“No, no don’t! Please! I’m trying, I swear,” you begin to plead with the man.

“Try harder.” Then he smiled, because he felt you squeeze around him. “Jesus Christ—you need to me talk you through it too? The chocolates supposed to make you horny, sweetheart. Not useless.”

“It’s not my fault,” you whimper, and squeeze around him again, pulling a condescending huff out of him.

“You poor thing,” he hums. “Probably spent the whole day waiting for me to come home so I could make you feel better, huh?”

His breath tickles your ear and you nearly moan. “Mhm—I thought about it all day.”

“Well aren’t you sweet,” he mutters, tone as condescending as ever. “You got what you wanted, too. I’ve been taking care of you for a while now. How many times have I cum in you now?”

“I… I don’t know—“

“Of course you fuckin’ don’t.” He cuts you off, unamused by your answer. “Want me to do it again? Fill you up, make you feel all nice and warm?”

“Please.”

“Give me what I want then. If these sheets aren’t soaked by the time I’m about to cum again, I’m pulling out and finishing on your face,” he lets go of your hair and begins to laugh. You don’t get much of a chance to react before you feel the pads of his fingers on your clit, pulling a gasp out of you once he starts rubbing little circles on top of already fucking you. “Heh—let’s see if playing with this cute little clit saves you.”

And he knows you don’t deserve it—any of it, honestly. Unfortunately, he can’t help himself, not with the reactions he gets out of you. He married you for many reasons—getting to spend the rest of his life with a squirter was one of them. The moment your breathing grows labored and you sound like you’re gonna start to cry, his lids grow heavy and he starts saying all the things he told himself he wouldn’t say today.

"Yeahhh, that’s it, baby—fuuuuck—takin’ it so good.” He is fucking gone. Voice thick, filled with nothing but lust and awe as he presses against your lower belly. “C’mon, you want it here, right? Yeah, you know what to do—don’t let some fuckin’ asshole finish on your sweet little face.”

Yes. Your husband just degraded himself. And you just egg him on without meaning to. You were already whining about how it was too much, the incoherent “want it inside,” just made it better worse.

“I will, I’ll give you so fuckin’ much if you just give me one—just one. Easy. Shit—I’ll fill you up as much as you want afterwards.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying, but that doesn’t matter when it’s what has you crying and trembling and finally gushing around his cock.“Yeah, that’s it. That’s it, that’s—fuuuuck yeah. Good job, sweetheart—good fuckin’ job. Fuck.”

Funny enough, he came right after you, which was a relief because that meant his job was done and he was finally able to give his dick a fucking break after hours of feeling like he was working for free, when he had already worked a regular eight hour shift prior. The biggest relief of all was seeing you lie limp in bed, after slightly worrying if you ever actually would.

He leans over you with a smug smile, already having forgotten how much you pissed him off earlier as he moved some hair away from your face. Checking to see if you’re actually asleep or not, then feeling a deep sense of peace when seeing that you are. He presses a kiss against your cheekbone, and in the most loving way hopes you stay that way because he cannot do that again. Then finally, he gets up to use the bathroom.

The peace is only lasts four steps until it’s completely shattered again when he hears your weak voice.

“Are you ready to go again?”

It doesn’t take much to figure out that Colt has a thing for praise. You watch him while he works and notice his smile burns brightest after a stunt if he gets a “Hell yeah, Seavers!” or “Well done!” from someone who was watching; it doesn’t matter who. That in and of itself isn’t conclusive, so you decide more research is in order. Colt is a giver by nature and it’s therefore easy to find an excuse to lay on the adoration. “Thank you, sweetheart. You’re so thoughtful,” you say when he brings you coffee one morning. You kiss his blushing cheek and find him still smiling an hour later. 

You lean into it, showering him with compliments for even the smallest deeds so you can watch how he melts and ducks his head in embarrassment. Your favorite is when he bashfully rubs the back of his neck, which affords you a spectacular view of his ridiculously defined bicep. He tries once, half-heartedly, to get you to stop. 

“You don’t have to say that,” he mumbles, glancing away as heat creeps up his face. 

“Sure, but I know you like it.” His eyes go wide. His lips part but nothing comes out. “Don’t you?” you press. 

“Uh-huh,” Colt responds, staring and sounding a little dazed. 

You grin. 

You wouldn't call K quiet; he can actually be fairly talkative when he’s in the mood to be, but he is shy about what he likes, so it takes time to find out he's fond of your voice. K is new to gentleness, to relationships that aren’t transactional, so you’re more than happy to take things slow. You walk together and explore the city, sometimes without saying a word as he glides along at your side. But the silence is comfortable, and you suspect he needs more of that in his life. Your evenings are spent in his apartment, where you cook for him in exchange for him teaching you how to dance. After, you lay on the couch with your head in his lap and he reads to you from real books he’s picked up here and there. 

It happens when you suggest you read to him for a change. K settles against you and his head rests on your thigh as you begin the next passage from the battered novel. Nothing strikes you as out of the ordinary over the next few nights; you’re too absorbed in the story to notice K’s breathing pick up or to attribute the discrete shift of his hips to anything other than him getting comfortable. 

It takes K actually sitting up to pull you out of things. “K?” you ask, then let out a surprised gasp as his lips find your neck. It’s controlled but intense, so much like the rest of him. 

“Keep going,” he urges, and you do your best. 

Sebastian… leave it to the pianist to be really into your hands. He is not subtle, though little about Sebastian could be said to be understated. When you’re together, it's a given he’s holding your hand and is probably running his thumb over it. He’s constantly bringing your fingers to his lips, to the point you’re not certain he’s aware he’s doing it. He lights up when you touch him, not in a bright burst, but a warm, steady glow that softens his features and brings a wondering smile to his face. Sebastian can be a bit of a live wire, but you never feel it when your hands are on him. 

You realize there's another layer to his fixation when he’s listening to you play a moderately challenging piece from next to you on the piano bench and his hand slides onto your thigh. You glance at him, stopping, but Sebastian isn't looking at your face. It’s only after he realizes you’re waiting for an explanation that he pulls his eyes away from your hands. He has the grace to blush. 

“Uh, I was just…” he stammers. “Watching your form.” 

You raise an eyebrow. You lift your hands off the keys and press two fingers to Sebastian’s lips; his pupils dilate fast. “Want to do more than watch?” you offer. He nods eagerly, and opens.  

Katoptronophilia. Derived from the Greek words for “mirror” and “love,” as Ryland explains it. Of course he would know the etymology of the proper term for his mirror kink. At first you think he’s just being cute, pulling you to his side when he catches sight of a mirrored surface so you can admire how fine a pair you make. “Look how beautiful you are,” he’ll murmur in your ear, or, “See why I can’t keep my hands to myself?” The behavior fits neatly within Ryland’s mile-wide romantic streak, so you never attribute it to anything more. 

Until you catch him eyeing your reflections in the portion of the bathroom mirror that’s visible from where you’re making out on the couch. It ruins the mood for you, and Ryland makes it worse by launching into a spiel that sounds distressingly rehearsed about why what he was doing isn’t that strange from a scientific standpoint. You just think he’s vain; that’s as far as the subject goes that night. The next day you apologize for reacting so badly and the two of you are able to have a clear-headed discussion about it, which concludes with Ryland picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom. You wiggle out of his arms and position your full-length standing mirror so it has a good view of the bed. 

“Care to show me what’s so interesting?” you purr, and Ryland hauls his shirt off so quickly it rips his glasses off his face. You retrieve them and set them back on his nose. “There. Now you can see me from whatever angle you want.” 

There isn't much talking after that. 

Not in ten thousand years would you have guessed that Lars has a breeding kink. You haven’t gotten to sex yet, but things are definitely heading in that direction. Making a grown man come in his pants just from humping him over his clothes is surprisingly fun, and you’re in no rush to move to deeper waters until Lars feels he’s ready. What you don’t know is that Lars is stalling; not because he’s nervous the physical sensations will be too much for him, but because he’s worried he’s going to say something completely insane like, “Gonna get you pregnant,” even if he knows it’s impossible. 

It turns out Lars’ fears are well-founded, because the first time he fingers you it comes out. 

“You feel so good, baby,” you whine, arching off the bed as Lars’ thick fingers pump inside you. “Wanna feel the rest of you.” 

“Yeah?” Lars breathes, hooking his fingers and making you gasp. “Want me to fill you up?” 

“Yes!” 

“Gonna put a baby in you, make you mine-” Lars full-body freezes, registering what he just said. Your reaction is not what he expects: a throaty moan as you grasp his wrist to try and get him to move again. 

“Yes daddy, I’ll be so good for you… Please…”

Lars is so turned on he can’t see straight, but doesn’t let that get in the way of taking care of you. After you return the favor, you brush away the hair that’s fallen on his forehead. “Was that too much?” you ask nervously. 

He raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “Was- You-” He shakes his head vigorously. “I was the one who got carried away…” 

You smile. “I liked it.” 

Lars makes a split-second decision. “Can you say it again?” he almost whispers.

You wrap your arms around his neck and put your lips against his ear. “Daddy.” 

He’s done for.

Luke getting off on submission is simultaneously unexpected and unsurprising. He’s always been a sweetheart, and the longer you’ve been together the more it shows. He’ll pick up things from the store you mentioned offhandedly that you needed, often throwing in a little something extra, like the chips you’ve been craving. When deciding what to do for the day or what to have for dinner, he’s always giving suggestions he thinks you’ll like, even if you know he’d make a different choice if it was just him. Luke loves being able to do things for you, and sometimes you’ll ask for his help even if you don’t need it because seeing the look on his face when he can be useful for you is the best part of your day. 

The strongest hint you have is his physical deference to you. He doesn’t take the lead while kissing unless you ask him to and even then he lets you move him however and wherever you want. He gravitates to you being on top of him, whether that means straddling him on the couch or laying him out on the living room floor and kissing him senseless. It’s during one of those times you realize how committed he is to his role. 

“Tell me what you want and I’ll do it,” Luke murmurs between kisses. 

You sit up on his hips, considering. “C’mon, please?” he nearly whines, and that’s when you understand it’s serious. 

“Arms over your head,” you try, and Luke obeys instantly. You feel him shudder. You take off his belt and use it to bind his wrists together. “Is that okay?” you ask. 

Luke huffs affirmatively. “If you want to put it around my neck, that’s good too.” 

Your eyes widen a little as you feel your body react to the suggestion. Very carefully, you put your palm against his throat and let your fingers rest on the sides of his neck. “How’s this?”

Luke tilts his head back; his pulse is flying under your hand. “Good, really good.” 

You give a light squeeze and he gasps. Really good, indeed. 

it's not just that Lars is tall and strong, though.

because that man is packing.

nine inches, thick like a coke can, and because he doesn't have much of a frame of reference, he has no idea how big he is

the first time you touch him, it's over his clothes and he's only half-hard, so he's briefly terrified when he sees your eyes go wide at the feel of him

"what's wrong?!"

"no, Lars, sweetheart, nothing's wrong, it's just...wow."

"...'wow' what?"

you didn't think you'd have to explain to your boyfriend that he has a massive dick, but once you do, his face goes pink and he looks ever-so-slightly proud of himself

you take things slow – touch isn't painful most of the time since he started exposure therapy, but he still gets overwhelmed easily, and he's the type to want to take things slowly regardless

but lars is absolutely obsessed with having his hands on you. they look so big wrapped around your waist, grabbing your thighs, cupping your face as he kisses you.

he's just so honored and so in awe that you trust him enough to let him hold you like this, to let him pick you up and maneuver you (gently, of course) to where he wants you.

he loves picking you up and putting you on his lap, positioning you over one of his thick thighs so you can dry-hump him while he kisses you senseless <3

and the look on your face when you feel how hard he is for you, when you can feel how big he is, even through his clothes? oh, lars can't get enough of it

when lars finally gets brave enough to let you see him naked and touch him without fabric in the way, he cums so fast at the sight of you with your lips around the first few inches of his cock, straining your jaw to take in more, both hands wrapped around what you can't fit in your mouth <3

at one point he rests his cock against your lower belly to see just how deep inside you he'll be when the time comes and he has to squeeze his eyes shut tight to keep from finishing right then and there

he's so worried and so turned on at the idea of you struggling on his massive dick. he doesn't want to hurt you, and he never would, but the thought of you slowly taking him in, panting and gasping at the stretch, drives him absolutely crazy

and when you finally do have sex, he's absolutely amazed when you can take him. it's definitely a lot, and your cunt is squeezing him so hard that he's trembling from the effort not to move, but he talks you through it so sweetly

"there you go, you're doing so well. i'm so proud of you, lovey. am i hurting you? do you feel okay?"

you have to tell him it's okay to move once he's fully inside

poor lars is so overwhelmed and so nervous about hurting you, and you're so tight around him that he almost can't move, but eventually he manages to give you one single, cautious thrust

and when your eyes flutter shut and you moan, that's all the encouragement he needs

he's just in awe of the way he disappears inside you

and he's obsessed with the tiny bulge in your lower belly that appears when he's all the way in. he can't take his eyes off of it as he fucks you, moving so carefully so he won't hurt you, his big hands gently holding your hips, keeping you in place

he presses his whole body weight into you when he's close, holding you so tight and so close, pressing you hard into the mattress

and he's whimpering praise into your ear the entire time <3

"oh– oh gosh, oh, sweetheart, you're so– so good to me, i c-can't – you just t-take me so well, i can't hold it, i need to...oh, god, baby, i need to cum, pleasepleasepleaseplease–"

the second you give him permission, he lets go, burying his face in the crook of your neck and sobbing as he pumps you full

and afterwards he lays on your chest, and the weight of him is so comforting and so warm and you're both so happy as you fall asleep in each others' arms <3

author's note: thank you so so much for reading! also PLEASEEE send me lars requests i'm going absolutely insane about that man <3