sweet like cinnamon

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

It had started with a gap in the fence. 

Well, no, that’s not true. From the first day you moved in, Holland March was in over his head. 

Ever since you’d come over, introduced yourself, gave him your number in case he ever needed to get in touch with you, and walked away with a sweet little wave and a “bye, Mr. March!”, Holland had noticed you were pretty. Very pretty. Unfairly so, he might say. You also just so happened to be twenty-three years old to his forty-one.

So Holland had been adamant that that was it. No making a move on you, nothing to creep you out. You were his young, astoundingly pretty neighbor who waved every time you saw each other outside and sometimes brought over baked goods for Holly, and that was where the relationship ended. That was it. 

That had to be it. 

There was no point getting his hopes up, so he resolutely did not think about you. Ever.

___

Until the day he noticed the gap in the fence. 

See, your backyards were connected, and you had a pool. He’d heard you swimming with your friends sometimes, not that he was listening in, so he knew you used it. 

Then one day he was out watering the yard and he walked past that one fence post that had shifted out of place years ago, and something caught his eye. Or rather, someone. Or rather, you, his very pretty, very young neighbor who happened to be sunbathing topless in a chaise lounge. 

He hadn’t meant to look. It was an accident, really. A coincidence. He had just glanced over and there you were. And before Holland knew it, he had been looking for a while. Admiring you, really, and for too long, he realized. 

He shook it off. This was not going to happen, and he was not going to think about it. 

No matter how uncomfortably tight his pants felt all of a sudden, and no matter how quickly he came once he was back in his bedroom, palming himself over his clothes and biting his fist and trying (failing) to think of anything but you. 

___

It was gross. He knew it was gross. He was a dirty old man and he knew it. 

Healy knew it, for Christ’s sakes. He’d caught Holland staring at you through the window as you walked to your car one morning and smacked him upside the back of his head. 

“The hell was that for?!” Holland cried.

“She’s too fuckin’ young for you, that’s what. What is she, twenty?” 

“Twenty-three.” 

Healy gave him a Look with a capital L. 

“She told me!” Holland said, defensively.

“Oh, sure, because that makes it all right.”

___

And yet, that hadn’t been the last time Holland caught himself staring at you. It wasn’t even the last time he saw you topless. 

Once a week, at the minimum, he would go out to water the garden and there you’d be, lounging on your beach chair, perfectly framed within the gap in the fence like a work of art, for his eyes only. 

It was still unintentional when he looked, he told himself. It wasn’t like he was purposefully going out there to see you. It was just a coincidence that you liked to sunbathe around the same time he went out to water the yard. 

And if he’d maybe stopped asking Holly to go take care of the garden as part of her chores, what of it? She was busy with school and friends and he didn’t mind doing it. 

For reasons completely unrelated to you, he thought firmly as his eyes wandered over to your side of the fence for the dozenth time that day. 

The other issue was, that wasn’t the only time he’d see you. He couldn’t just relegate his secret shame to the backyard (and afterwards, the bedroom, fucking his hand and biting down on his tie to muffle his groans). 

No, you’d go for runs every evening that went straight past his front window. And sure, your legs looked perfect and your shorts were so small he nearly mistook them for your underwear once or twice, but that didn’t matter, because you were almost half his age, and he was above noticing things like that. 

It became a sort of mantra for Holland to repeat firmly to himself every time he saw you outside. Getting the mail early in the morning, still in your silky pajamas? She’s half my age. Waving at him on your way to work, your high heels clicking on the sidewalk? Half my age. Coming home drunk in a short dress after a night out with your friends. Half my age. 

And yet, the mantra didn’t stop him from noticing how pretty you were. How badly he wanted to kiss you. He would actively fantasize about just kissing you, not even sex, just your soft lips on his, your hand in his hand, and he would daydream about it like a fucking schoolboy. 

He did also daydream about sex with you. He thought about it all the fucking time, in fact, so much that he started to wonder if there was actually something wrong with him. 

Because, Jesus Christ, the shameful fantasies that flooded his mind every time he saw you were disgusting. 

There were the thoughts of you letting him fuck you in front of your open windows where all the neighbors could see. The thoughts of keeping you in the office with him, like a secretary, except your only job would be to sit in his lap and warm his cock all day. And god, the nights when you came home drunk, and he could see you, illuminated by the streetlamps as you stumbled to your doorway, were the worst.

He’d never do it. He knew he’d never do it, but he couldn’t help but stroke his cock to the thought of taking advantage of you like this. Of taking you out to a bar, teaching you how to drink like a grown-up, pouring drink after drink into your inviting little mouth until you couldn’t take anymore. Of taking you home, slung over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry because you would be too drunk and too dizzy to walk upright, because you can’t hold your liquor yet, you’re too young. Of stripping you of your tight little dress and your panties and fucking you while you’re still too out of it to think. Because that’s what you need, isn’t it? Someone more experienced to give you what you really want. Someone older and wiser to take care of you and show you what you need. 

God, did he think about it. It became a nightly habit, rubbing one out to the thought of you. Even on nights when he’d had far too much whiskey and couldn’t get it up, he would grind his soft cock against his pillow and whine your name until he came all over his bedsheets without even getting hard.

___

It had been six weeks of this torture. Two months since you moved in, not that anyone was counting, and six weeks since he’d seen you half-naked for the first time. 

And then, one morning, he had to check that he was indeed awake, because there you were, completely naked before him, and it took a moment for his groggy brain to catch up. 

Your windows faced each other. You’d been so good about keeping your curtains and blinds shut when you were changing, not that Holland had ever looked over to check, or Holland had kept his blackout curtains down to mitigate the throbbing migraines he got when he drank too much. Somehow, in two whole months, this level of torture had not been brought before Holland, but now it felt like God was laughing in his face, because you were bending over to put on your panties and Holland could see not only your ass, but just a slight glimpse of your perfect pussy from between your thighs, and he absolutely could not touch himself because the motion might catch your eye and then you would never, ever speak to him again. 

So instead he watched, mesmerized by your body, cock straining against his boxers, until finally, finally you left your room and he could cum with only two strokes of his hand, writhing, pent up beyond belief. 

He thought about it all day long. He nearly ran a red light on the way to work because he was thinking about it. He nearly popped a boner in front of healy and a witness they were interviewing and he had to rush off to the restroom before things got very, very awkward, because he was thinking about it. He thought about it on the couch that night over his bedtime glass of scotch. 

There was no way you couldn’t have noticed your curtains were open, right? There was no way in hell you didn’t know. You turned to the window more than once. It didn’t cross your mind then? You were smart, or at least Holland thought so. You were observant. Anybody would have noticed. 

‘She didn’t mean anything by it’, Holland thought as he downed the last of his drink and headed to bed. Maybe you had been running late for work and didn’t want to waste a second closing curtains. Maybe you were tired, and it was still early, and you had other things on your mind. Maybe you simply thought he was still asleep and were willing to take that risk. 

There were a thousand rational explanations that didn’t lead to what he wanted them to lead to, because, he thought to himself for the millionth time, this is not going to happen, because she is too fucking young for you, and you are a perverted old man who–

Every coherent thought left Holland’s head as he entered his bedroom. 

It was dark there, and dark outside, but there was one light, and that was the light coming from your bedside table, perfectly illuminating you. You, completely naked, with your legs spread and your head thrown back, grinding your clit against…what was that, a vibrator? It had to be, Holland thought as he stepped closer to the window to get a clearer look at you. It looked like one of those ‘magic-wand’ ones he’d seen in the storefronts of sex shops. From the look on your face, and from the sounds he could just barely hear through the closed windows, it seemed to be doing the trick. 

He wondered vaguely whether it was new, or whether you’d had it for ages. How many times had that stupid hunk of plastic gotten you off?

Maybe it was a little weird to be jealous of a sex toy, Holland mused as he undid his dress pants and slipped a hand over his cock. But that was fine, because he wasn’t jealous. He just felt bad for you, because you were missing out on how much better he could treat you than that old thing. You had absolutely no idea how good he was with his fingers. He could probably make you squirt, he thought, and bit his lip as he stroked himself faster. He would eat your pussy for days if you’d let him. Stupid fucking toy can’t do that, can it? 

He watched as your cunt dripped for him – not for the toy, for him – a pearlescent drop slowly making its way down from your entrance down onto your bedsheets, and his hips jerked upwards into his hand. 

He needed to know what you tasted like, needed his tongue in your mouth, in your pussy, in your ass; every bit of you he could have, he wanted. And god, he was hard, he was so hard he was throbbing, the tip of his cock a bright purple-red, dripping pre-cum onto his nice bedroom carpet and onto his dress pants, which had been haphazardly shoved halfway down his thighs at some point, he really didn’t remember or care when. 

Holland felt such a knot in his stomach, watching your pussy clench onto nothing, over and over again as you came. Poor baby, you needed him. You needed his big fucking cock inside of you, something for your cute little cunt to grip onto as you came. 

‘Jesus, I don’t know if she’s even taken a dick before.’ The thought popped into Holland’s mind unbidden and made his head swim as he stroked himself faster. ‘She’d be so tight, so nervous for her first time…fuck, i’d have to work her open and even then she’d have to struggle on it…have to rub that pretty clit to help her relax enough to stretch…oh, god, she might even bleed…Jesus, that’s so sick, fuck, fuck, i need it, need to pound into her pretty pussy, need to pop her fucking cherry, need to–’

And with that, Holland came harder than he ever had in his life, shooting ropes of white onto the carpet, the wall, his hand, so much he thought it would never end, so intense it knocked him to his knees. He collapsed onto the floor, wincing at the bruises he knew he’d surely have tomorrow, before he fell asleep, completely drained. 

That could never happen again, he told himself as he cleaned the bedroom floor the next morning, grimacing at his sore back and knees. 

And yet, it did. That night, in fact, you left your curtains open again. and Holland just couldn’t help himself. 

And then it happened again. And again. Every night for a week.

Holland genuinely wasn’t sure how much more he could take. 

___

You, on the other hand, were starting to get pissed off. You had done everything, everything to get your hot older neighbor to notice you, ever since you’d caught him staring at you the day you moved in. 

You had flirted like crazy when you met. You asked him a billion questions about himself and his daughter and his detective agency and you listened so attentively, and he didn’t seem to notice you were being more than friendly.

You went running past his house in the tiniest pair of shorts you owned, multiple times a week, and the fucker minded his manners and looked away, every single time. You went out to get the mail in your silk negligee to try and give him ideas, and he waved at you like seeing you in your pajamas was normal. 

For the love of God, you routinely sat in plain view of him, with your tits out, purposefully and directly in front of that gap in the fence where you knew he could see you, you knew it! You could tell you flustered him, you saw him turn red every time you said hello to him, but he just wouldn’t make a move.

You’d had to resort to desperate measures. You accidentally-on-purpose left your blinds open and changed in front of your open window, taking as long as possible in hopes that he’d wake up and see you, but as far as you could tell, it looked like he slept through the whole thing. So you ramped it up to eleven and gave him a show, facing his bedroom window, with the help of your trusty vibrator. 

And yet, that window stayed dark, night after night, for an entire week. You almost wondered if he was out of town, but no, you saw his car going in and out of the driveway during the day. So either Holland March had a will of fucking steel, or he simply wasn’t interested, and a creeping fear of the latter was starting to crawl its way into the back of your mind. 

You decided to try one final ploy, and if that didn’t work, well. You were probably going to have to move. 

___

You waited until you saw that his car was gone from the driveway. Once the mail truck rolled around, you slipped over and plucked a letter from his mailbox. Nothing important, but definitely not junk mail. Something you could justify returning later. 

Sure enough, Holland’s car rolled up in the driveway later that night. You waited an hour before heading over, long enough so that it didn’t look like you were waiting for him to get home, but you made sure that the living room light was still on before you knocked on the door.

You stood on the front porch, letter in hand, in a sundress far shorter than what you’d worn to work today. You hoped he wouldn’t ask why you had changed clothes.

The door opened. Holland March was standing there, shirt unbuttoned and untucked, tie loosened, in dark blue dress pants so tight you had to force yourself not to stare. 

He attempted to lean against the door in an affectedly casual manner, misjudged the distance and nearly fell before straightening himself back up. 

“Hi.” 

You stifled a giggle. “Hi, Mr. March! I’m so sorry to bother you, I know it’s late, but, um, I think the mailman dropped off a letter at my place that was meant for you.” You held out the letter, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. “I’m not sure why, I think they just got the numbers mixed up.” 

“Oh!” Holland took the letter from your outstretched hand. “Thanks, that’s– that’s really sweet of you, kid.” 

That should not have made you wet, you scolded yourself firmly before pushing that to the back of your mind for later. “Yeah, it’s no trouble.” 

You paused, then cocked your head as if the idea had just occured to you. “Actually, Mr. March, what are you up to tonight?” 

“Tonight? Um…not much, actually, I was just about to have a drink and head to bed, and–” 

“Do you wanna come over to my place and have that drink with me instead?” 

Holland froze. He looked like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and he glanced behind him quickly before turning his gaze back to you. 

You continued. “I mean, we’ve lived next door to each other for two months, I think we should get to know each other a little bit, don’t you?”

Holland took a deep breath in before giving you a long look that you couldn’t quite read. “One drink?” 

“Sure. One drink.” 

___

He’d loosened up a bit once he got settled into a conversation. He was polite, asking you about work and how you were settling into your new place. 

And suddenly, one drink had turned into three, and you were sprawled on the couch, your legs almost-but-not-quite in his lap as he told you stories about some of the wilder cases he’d worked. There was one, he said, where a guy had tried to stick up a convenience store but left his gun in the car, was so embarrassed afterwards that he had gone on the run without having stolen anything, and the guy’s girlfriend had hired Holland and his partner to drag him back home. 

You’d cracked up at that one, and as your laughter died down, you shifted just slightly over so that your legs were resting casually over his, as if they belonged there. 

He glanced downward at them, but didn’t say a thing. 

“You know,” you said, twirling a strand of your hair between your fingertips. “The one thing I don’t love about L.A. is the dating scene.” 

“Oh yeah?” he glanced over at you, taking another sip from his glass of bourbon. 

“The guys around here just don’t really know how to treat a lady, as far as I can tell.”

“How so?” He leaned forward to put his glass down on the coffee table, and as he did so, he placed a hand on your legs to keep them in his lap. You had to suppress a grin. Oh, this was happening. 

“Oh, y’know…” You shifted your legs against his thighs, very intentionally making it look absentminded and very quickly glancing at his dick to see if – yep, he was hard. This was happening! “They stand you up, they don’t want commitment, they’re terrible in bed, that kind of thing.” That wasn’t strictly true. You hadn’t gone on any dates in LA so far, but you’d heard plenty from your work friends, and frankly, that was a detail you didn’t think Holland necessarily needed to know. 

Holland scoffed. “Oh, c’mon. Pretty girl like you? You could have any guy you wanted. I'm surprised they’re not lining up and down the street for you. You’ll find someone who knows how to treat you, I’m sure of it.” But he was still looking straight ahead of him and that simply would not do. 

You pointedly nudged his inner thigh with your foot, the fabric of your stocking smooth against his pant leg. That made him look at you, that same look from earlier in his eyes, but this time you could definitely place it. That was the look of a man who was one little push away from giving in to temptation. 

You cocked your head, looking up at him with doe eyes, still rubbing his inner thigh with your foot and suppressing a smile at the way his legs spread for you. “Know any guys that might be interested, Mr. March?” 

And suddenly, Holland was pulling you into his lap, kissing you hungrily like you were the only thing keeping him alive, his big hands in your hair, then cupping your face, then on your chest pushing you back and –

“Wait,” he panted, his forehead against yours, still staring at your lips. “Wait, we…fuck, we have to stop, you’re too…I’m way too old for you, baby, this is wrong, we–.” 

“It’s not,” you replied firmly, grinding slowly against his hard cock. “I’m a grown woman, Holland.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, you are,” Holland murmured, kissing you gently before pushing himself back again. “But it’s not…’s not that simple, you’re – fuck me – you’re ten years older than my fuckin’ kid, baby. You call me ‘Mr. March’, for god’s sake. And it really shouldn’t make me hard when you do it, but –” 

“That’s what I was going for, Holland,” you giggled. 

He blinked. “You…wait, you–” 

“I’m not dumb, Holland. I know you watch me through the fence, because I sit there on purpose so you’ll do it. I know you watch me on my runs, because I go past your house on purpose. I don’t know if you saw me changing the other day, or what I’ve been doing every night this week, but…”

“That was on purpose?” He looked dumbstruck. 

“So you did see it,” you grinned, feeling triumphant. 

In a second, Holland’s mouth was on yours again, and he moved you both so that he was above you, his full weight on you as you grabbed at his shoulders to pull him impossibly closer.

“You fucking – you fuckin’ slut,” he gasps between messy, open-mouthed kisses. “Parading around in front of me like that – mmm – makin’ me think you didn’t know – mmph – makin’ me feel like a fuckin’ predator – Jesus Christ – you’re unbelievable, absolutely – fuck – unbelievable.” His mouth was on your neck now, his facial hair tickling you as he digs his teeth into your sensitive skin. He moaned as he bit a dark bruise into the side of your neck before pulling away with a lewd pop. 

“God, and here I thought – c’mere, take this off…” He tugged at the straps of your sundress, pulling them down just enough to expose your breasts. “...there we go, good girl – here I thought you were this cute innocent little thing, makin’ me feel like such a perv for jerking off over you every fuckin’ night for a month –” 

You moaned as his fingers brushed over your nipples, teasing them slightly before he pinched you hard, making you squirm underneath him. 

“And you were trying to get me to do this to you the whole time,” he continued breathlessly, still roughly toying with you with one hand, the other going to grab you by the hair. “Such a sweet little girl, trying to get Mr. March to fuck you. Is that it?”

You nodded, and he tightened his grip on your hair. 

“You gotta use your words, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“You, Holland, I want you, I’ve wanted you for weeks, I want this, I want–”

 He cut you off with a bruising kiss, shoving his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like bourbon, you mused as you opened your mouth further, licking at him in return. When he broke away, there was a small trail of spit that connected your bottom lip with his. 

Holland rested his forehead against your cheek. “We have to slow down.”

“Why?! Holland, I told you—“

“No, sweetheart, it’s not that,” he murmured, peppering kisses from your cheek to your collarbone. “We gotta—we have to slow down, or else I’m gonna have to fuck you on this couch, and that’s not—mmm—” He cut himself off as you slid your hand beneath his undershirt, grabbing his slender waist and digging your nails in as you kissed him hard on the mouth. His hands tangle in your hair again, like he can’t believe you’re really there. It takes everything in him to break away again. “No, baby, we’re not doing this here. I’m gonna treat you right, I’m gonna fuck you on your bed like you deserve. Okay, sweetheart? Can you do that for me?” 

How could you say no to that? 

You dragged Holland down the hall and into your bedroom in record time, lightly shoving him towards your bed. He got the hint and sprawled onto his back, long legs dangling slightly off the end, spread invitingly for you. 

You climbed onto the edge of the bed, slowly making your way up his body, kissing and groping him as you went, relishing in the way his eyes roll back when you rub your cheek against the bulge in his pants, batting your eyelashes at him. 

“Fuck, you’re so hard…is that all for me, Holland?” 

“Yours, baby, ‘m all yours…”

You sat up further and positioned yourself over him, straddling his lap, kissing every bit of his face and neck you could reach. Holland’s hands clutched at your hips, guiding them as you pressed yourself against his hard cock. 

“Have…have you done this before?” Holland sounded almost drunk as he rocked his hips up into you, seemingly unbothered by the clothes between you.

“Maybe,” you giggled. You absolutely had, many times, but there was no harm in teasing. “Why?” 

Holland’s face turned pink and he averted your gaze, although he didn’t let go of the grip he had on you. For the first time all evening, he looked a bit embarrassed. 

“Nothin’, I was just…I mean…the other day, I was thinking…” 

It clicked. “In that case, yes.” 

“What?”

“I said, if it gets you off…” you slipped a hand downwards to stroke Holland’s cock. “Then yes, Holland. I’m a virgin. I’ve never, ever done this kind of thing before.” You gave him a doe-eyed look. “And I really want you to be my first, Mr. March. The first man who’s ever touched me.” You grabbed his hand and moved it upwards to your breast. “Will you show me how to do it, please?” 

“Oh, my god,” Holland exhaled. 

“Is that a yes?” 

Holland didn’t answer. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you and maneuvered the both of you so that he was on top, messily kissing his way down your body before slipping his hands under your dress. “Can I?” 

You could feel his fingers at the hem of your panties. You nodded quickly, lifting your hips so he could pull them downwards. From where you lay, you saw him slip them into his suit pocket. Perv, you thought fondly. 

He pushed your skirt up further. “Let me see you, sweetheart,” he murmured, positioning himself between your thighs, trailing his fingers upwards. You whined and spread your legs further, shivering as you saw Holland’s eyes go wide. 

“Oh, look at you. So pretty, baby, can’t believe you’ve been keeping this pretty pussy from me for this long…” Holland traced a finger gently over your clit and you squirmed, oversensitive from need. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve gotta calm down for me, I’m barely touching you…if you’re this sensitive now, how are you ever gonna take it when I fuck you, hmm?” 

“Holland!” you whined. “Please, touch me!”

“I am touching you, baby. You have to tell me a little more than that.”

“Put your fingers in me, then!”

To your frustration, Holland shook his head no. “Let me get you ready first.”

Before you could ask what he meant, you were suddenly overwhelmed with sensation, because holy fuck, Holland’s mouth was on your pussy, and every coherent thought left your brain in a matter of seconds. 

You cried out, hips jerking upwards into his mouth without any input from your brain. He wrapped his hands around your thighs and held you in place as you squirmed. 

Holland licked you slowly, carefully, purposefully avoiding your clit as he ran his tongue over your folds, over your entrance, almost-but-not-quite enough to be inside of you. He kissed you, open-mouthed and messy, practically making out with your cunt. He teased you mercilessly, alternating between giving you slow, light licks, then a taste of the kind of hard friction you needed, then back to treating you like you were made of porcelain, like he didn’t want you to break. Every so often, he would come so close to your clit, and you tried to urge him on, but he seemed determined to keep you on the edge, and did so for what felt like ages before you finally decided enough was enough..

“More, Holland, I need…” you practically sobbed. “Just…fuck, make me cum, please, I want it so bad…” 

“Yeah? You need it?” Holland’s fingers barely grazed your clit, but it was enough to make you writhe against him, trying to get close enough to where he was touching you, really touching you, but it wasn’t happening. “You need me to touch you right here, baby?” He slowly, gently moved his fingers over you, finally playing with your clit properly, but it still just wasn’t enough.

“Yes, yesyesyes, please, Holland…”

Finally, finally, Holland pressed his lips right where you needed him the most, taking your clit in his mouth and sucking hard, not letting up when you whimpered and grabbed at his hair. Quite the opposite, actually; he grabbed one of your thighs and tossed it over his shoulder, grinding his face between your thighs as if he couldn’t get close enough. 

And he moaned so prettily while he did it, focusing all his attention on the most sensitive part of you. You were this close to finishing when suddenly, he pulled back.

“Holland!” you cried out in frustration. 

“There we go. I think you’re ready,” he said, as if you hadn’t spoken. You blinked. 

“For what?” Your head was spinning with your denied release, heart beating so hard you could hear it in your ears. 

“My fingers. You said you wanted them, right? Had to get you ready first.” 

You exhaled hard, almost a laugh, almost a gasp. “You’re so mean.” 

“I’m sorry, sweet girl,” he replied, pressing a slow, sweet kiss to your clit. “‘m gonna make it up to you, ok? Gonna make you feel good, I promise.” He spread you open with his index and middle fingers, rubbing over your entrance, getting them wet before slipping just his middle finger into you, slow and steady, thrusting in and out experimentally. “How’s that, sweetheart?” 

“Good, good, it’s so good, Holland, please don’t stop…” 

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he sighed, so quietly you almost couldn’t hear it. “So fucking tight, baby, you’re squeezing me so hard…think you can take another?”

“Yes, do it, do it, please, fuck me open for you…” You were hardly even conscious of the words coming out of your mouth, you were so wrapped in the feeling of finally having Holland inside you, even if it was just one finger, with another teasing your entrance before slowly pressing in– “Fuck.” You moaned as Holland curled his fingers into your spot, much more firmly than he had before. Your legs parted further as he sped up, rubbing quick, hard circles with his fingers inside you. 

All the while, he was rambling, whispering sweet nothings with his cheek against your inner thigh. “Doin’ so well for me, babydoll, takin’ my fingers for me. You look so fuckin’ pretty, baby…so wet for me, dripping all over my fuckin’ hand, I wish you could see it. That feel good? Yeah? You want more? There we go, there’s a good girl, take it for me…”

You were getting close, you could feel it. Holland seemed to feel it too, and to your frustration, he stopped again, stilling his fingers as deep inside of you as they could go. 

“Don’t cum yet, sweet girl.” 

You whined in response, trying to squirm against his grasp, but he held you in place and stroked your leg soothingly. 

He shushed you gently. “I know, you want it bad, but just wait. It’ll make it better, I promise. You’re gonna get to cum. Just let daddy take care of you, ok?”

Oh, now that did something to you. You fell back against the pillows, heart beating against your ribcage, so hard you could swear it’d be visible. “Okay. I trust you.” 

“Yeah?” You could hear the smile in his voice. 

“Give it to me.”

Holland enthusiastically obliged, resuming his rhythm before once again taking your clit into his mouth. The combination of his tongue and his fingers had you close to cumming again in an embarrassingly short amount of time, but Holland wasn’t letting up. You could feel it building and building, so intense your vision swam, and then Holland’s other hand was pressing into your lower stomach, and there was an unfamiliar sort of pressure, and then you were cumming and cumming and cumming, hands buried in Holland’s hair, pulling hard, your eyes screwed shut with pleasure. 

When you finally came back down to Earth, you opened your eyes to see Holland beaming at you, his face drenched, more so than you had expected. Then it clicked. 

“Holy shit, did I…?” 

“Yeah.” Holland’s grin widened. 

“Come here.” 

Holland didn’t hesitate, climbing on top of you and eagerly shoving his tongue into your mouth. You could taste your own cum all over his face, you could smell it, and even though you were still reeling from your first orgasm, you were more turned on than you had been all evening.

You dragged a hand down Holland’s chest to grope him over his dress pants, which he still, somehow, hadn’t taken off. He was hard – achingly so, you would guess, from the way his cock jumped in your grasp. There was a wet spot where pre-cum had leaked through his clothes while eating you out. 

“Mind if I return the favor?” you asked. You weren’t expecting Holland to shake his head. 

“No, sweetheart, I…” he trailed off before catching sight of your concerned expression. “It’s not you! I want you to – I really, really want you to,” he pressed a hungry kiss to your neck. “But I won’t last five seconds if you do that right now.” 

“I don’t mind,” you giggled.

Holland groaned into the side of your neck. “Fuck, you’re tempting me…” Another kiss. “But…” Kiss. “I’ve been wanting to be inside you…” Kiss. “...for weeks, sweet girl.” Kiss. “And if I don’t do it now I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“Well, in that case, take these off,” you grinned, tugging his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders. Holland attempted to undo his pants one-handed so he could keep touching you and nearly fell on top of you twice before giving up and using both hands to take off the rest of his clothes.

Your eyes widened as you finally saw him bared before you. “Jesus, Holland!”

Holland all but jumped in alarm. “What?! What’s wrong?” 

“Your dick’s huge!”

He glanced down, as if double checking. “It is?” 

It was. Eight solid inches, long and thick, with a pretty pink tip that was currently dripping onto your bedsheets. You nodded, unabashedly staring. 

“Aren’t you lucky, then,” he chuckled. “Getting something so big for your first time.” 

“I don’t know…are you sure it’s going to fit, daddy?” You were only partially saying it to lean into the roleplay. Part of you really was worried about the stretch. 

“Look at me, babydoll.” Holland brushed a strand of hair out of your face. You did. His eyes were so much bluer up close, you noticed. “You gonna be a good girl for me?” You nodded. “Then you’re gonna take it. I’ll make it feel good for you, sweet girl.” 

Holland dragged the tip of his cock over your entrance. “Ready?” he murmured.

“I’m ready. Fuck me, please–” Your voice cracked as you felt him slowly enter you. God, he really was big. You felt your breath speed up and your grip on Holland’s shoulders tightened. 

“Good. You’re doing good. Just breathe for me, babydoll.” He pressed in another few inches and you whimpered, burying your face into the crook of his neck. “I know, I know it’s a big stretch. You’re so tight, sweet girl, you’re doing so well for me. Take a breath, we’re over halfway.” You took a few deep breaths. It wasn’t painful, but finally having what you’d been dreaming about every night for weeks was overwhelming, and you were having a hard time thinking straight.

Distantly, you heard Holland ask, “Can you take a little more?” 

You nodded shakily. 

“There she is, there’s my good little girl.” He was rougher this time, shoving into you harder, making you feel every single inch. “Come on, just a little more for me, almost there…attagirl. There we go. You did it, baby. ” He kissed your forehead. “‘M so proud of you. Such a good girl for me.”

You couldn’t respond. Your eyes fluttered closed as you felt his tip hit your cervix, and you moaned weakly. You felt Holland wrap one of your legs around his waist as he began to thrust into you, slowly, but you could feel his control slipping. 

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you feel so good…you’re so warm, so tight,” he moaned, hips stuttering slightly in an attempt to keep himself moving slowly, carefully. “And all mine. My good girl. You like being full of me?”

“Yes,” you panted. “Yes, it’s so fucking good, Holland, keep going, more…”

“Fuck.” Holland’s teeth sunk into your shoulder and you gasped, arching upward, chasing the sensation. He fucked you faster, harder, his thick cock rubbing against your spot perfectly. You closed your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the feeling, listening to Holland moan for you, burying your hands in his hair. 

“Oh, my god.”

You opened your eyes. 

Holland was gazing in rapture at your lower belly as he fucked you. As you focused, you could see – holy fuck, you could actually see the faintest shape of his cock inside you, you could see him move, and fuck, you could feel it, he was so deep, and there was Holland’s hand on you again, and you could feel it pressing his cock from the outside and you were gone, legs shaking as you came, gasping his name.

But he wasn’t slowing down, wasn’t giving you room to breathe after the orgasm you just had. He was putting your legs on his shoulder, leaning over you, nearly folding you in half as he fucked you, chasing his own release. 

“Holland, please slow down, ‘s too much…” you slurred. 

“You can take it,” he replied, ignoring your cry as he reached a hand between the two of you to rub at your clit. “You can give me one more, can’t you, sweetheart? You wanna be a good girl for your daddy?” Your stomach clenched. You nodded. Your eyes were shut tight, but you could hear the proud smile in Holland’s voice: “God, what’d I ever do to deserve a sweet girl like you? Such a fuckin’ sweetheart to your old man. Gonna make me cum so hard for you, angel, gonna fill you up even more, gonna fill this pretty pussy with my cum…” 

You were sobbing. You were so close, so close your legs were shaking, so close you couldn’t breathe. 

“You want me to cum for you, baby?” Holland’s voice was ragged as his thrusts got rougher, messier. He was close. “Let me take your virginity and cum inside you? You want a little reward for all that fucking teasing you’ve been doing? Want me to mark you, make you mine?”

And with one final rough thrust, you were over the edge. You could feel yourself clenching hard on his dick as he came with you, letting you milk every drop from him before you both collapsed. Holland laid his head on your chest, listening to your heart beat fast, softening cock still buried inside you. 

After a few moments, Holland sat bolt upright. “Shit, fuck, we forgot a condom–”

You placed a hand on his arm, tugging him back towards you. “‘M on the pill an’ I’m clean. Don’t worry about it,” you sighed, still feeling drunk with pleasure. With a loud sigh of relief, Holland fell back onto the pillow beside you, pulling you close to lay on his chest. 

You could vaguely smell the smoke from one of his cigarettes as you fell asleep.

___

You woke up the next morning to the sound of a man yelling outside. For a brief, delirious moment, you wondered if it was Holland, but no, Holland was sound asleep next to you, still holding you to his chest. 

A second went by, and you didn’t hear anything else. Must have been a dream. But no, the second your eyes closed, you heard it again. 

“March! Get out here!”

Holland bolted upright, startling you. He fumbled for the alarm clock on your bedside table. 10:37 am. Fuck. 

“Healy’s gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he groaned as he flung himself out of bed, throwing on his clothes from the night before, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. 

You giggled, settling back in under the covers. “Good luck, soldier,” you teased. “You’re gonna need it.” 

Holland, mostly dressed, rushed back over to you and gave you a hard kiss on the lips before hurrying for the door. “I’m sorry, I’ve gotta run, he’s gonna kick my ass, I was supposed to be out there half an hour ago –”

You cut him off with a wave and a smile. “Don’t worry about it. You can make it up to me over dinner tonight.”

Holland blinked in surprise. “You want to…? I mean, yeah! I’d – yeah, that’s perfect, sweetheart, I’d love that!” He beamed, that same winning smile you’d grown to adore.  

“Then it’s a date.” You blew him a quick kiss as he left, and called “See you tonight!” just before you heard the front door close behind him. 

As you listened to the indistinct sounds of Holland and Healy bickering fading away as they drove off, you drifted back off for a midmorning nap with a satisfied smile on your face.

note: thank you so much for reading!! please please please comment if you like it, this is my first ever holland fic and i hope i did him justice lmao <3

my requests are open and my inbox is also always open to talk about headcanons/ideas/etc <3