Hear me out. Kess and inexperienced reader and it’s her first time with him and he makes her cry because it’s so big for her.
nsfw content below, added some silliness too. big blurb for the new kess friends
the bedroom is warm and dim, just the bedside lamp casting golden light across the tangled sheets, and socks has been banished to the hallway because michael—sweet, thoughtful, ridiculous michael—had scooped him off the bed five minutes ago with a gentle apology and a scratch behind the ears that made the cat purr like a motorboat before being deposited outside the closed door. ranger had followed of his own volition, tail high, uninterested in whatever was happening between the humans, and now it's just the two of you, the door locked, the muffled sound of the neighbors' television bleeding through the wall.
you're nervous and you've been trying to hide it all night, but michael's hands are so gentle on your waist as he lays you back against the pillows that your breath hitches in a way that has nothing to do with arousal and everything to do with the size of the man kneeling over you. he's enormous in every dimension, the bed groaning beneath his weight, his shadow swallowing you whole when he leans down to press his mouth to your collarbone. his hair falls into his eyes and he pushes it back with one hand, those dark eyes soft and patient as he reads your face.
"hey," he murmurs, and his voice is that low velvet that makes your stomach flip. "you're shaking."
you want to deny it, want to arch into him like you've seen in movies, but your body is betraying you, trembling where it shouldn't be, your thighs clenching together involuntarily when his palm slides up your side. he notices—of course he notices, he notices everything, that annoying perceptiveness that makes him such a good teammate and an even better boyfriend—and he props himself up on one elbow, looking down at you with that slightly crooked grin that has probably gotten him out of trouble more times than he'd admit.
"babyyyy," he says, and there's a lilt of amusement threading through the word, not unkind but undeniably teasing. "i'm not going to break you."
"i know that," you manage, but your voice is thin and reedy and you don't sound convincing even to yourself. he chuckles, a warm rumble in his chest that you feel through your own ribcage where his body presses close, and he drops his mouth to your ear.
"relax. i'll go slow." he pulls back enough to look at you, his grin widening as your eyes dart nervously south. "and yes, i'm big. you're not wrong. but you're going to be fine."
there's a confidence in him that borders on smug, and you want to roll your eyes but instead you gasp when his mouth finds your nipple, warm and wet and deliberate, his tongue circling the peak with agonizing patience while his hand cups the other breast, thumb stroking in slow arcs that make your back arch before you can stop it. he's taking his time, undressing you with the focus of a man who has nowhere else to be, kissing down your stomach, your hip bones, the crease where your thigh meets your body, and when his mouth finally settles between your legs, his big hands spreading you open, you're already wet and aching, your hips lifting toward his face before you can think about it.
he eats you out like it's the only thing that matters, broad flat strokes of his tongue followed by focused pressure on your clit that makes your thighs quake against his ears, and when he slides one thick finger inside you, curling it against the front wall, you hear yourself make a sound that embarrasses you even as it sends another flood of warmth between your legs. he adds a second finger, stretching you carefully, and your walls grip them tight—so tight that his brow furrows with concentration as he works you open, scissoring gently, kissing your inner thigh while his fingers move in slow, deliberate thrusts.
"you're so tight, baby," he says against your skin, and the observation is almost clinical, except for the rough edge to his voice that tells you he's not unaffected. "breathe for me."
you try, you really try, but then he's climbing up your body, his weight settling over you, one hand braced beside your head so he doesn't crush you with the sheer mass of himself, and the blunt head of his cock is nudging against your entrance, hot and thick and so much wider than his fingers. your hands fly to his shoulders, fingers sinking into the hard muscle there, and he pauses—just barely, just enough—not to ask if you're okay, but because your whole body has gone rigid beneath him.
"you want me to stop?" he asks, and there's that teasing lilt again, like he already knows the answer, like he's daring you to say it. you shake your head frantically, which makes him laugh, a genuine bright sound that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes something warm bloom in your chest despite the anxiety.
"then relax those legs, baby, because i can feel you tensing up and i've literally not even started."
you try to unfurl, you do, and he pushes forward just a fraction, the head breaching your entrance, and your mouth falls open on a silent gasp because he's so thick—so impossibly, overwhelmingly thick—that your body resists him, your walls stretching around that single inch of him like they might split. he doesn't push further, doesn't force, just holds there and watches your face with that patient amusement, his thumb stroking your hip in slow circles.
"see?" he says, and there's a gentleness under the smugness, a tenderness that contradicts the arrogance in his tone. "it fits. you just have to let it."
he rocks forward another inch, slow as honey, and your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that he'll bruise, but he doesn't flinch, doesn't even wince, just keeps that steady pressure while your body stretches around him, burning and full and so intense your eyes water. it's not pain exactly—not the sharp kind—but a deep, overwhelming pressure that fills every empty space inside you, that makes your breath come in shallow little pants as your walls try to accommodate him. he's barely a third of the way in and you can feel him everywhere, can feel the shape of him imprinted on your insides, the hot pulse of him throbbing against your newly stretched walls.
"oh," you whisper, and it comes out small, almost pitiful, and michael's expression shifts—just for a second, just a flicker of concern beneath the humor—and he lowers his forehead to yours, his breath warm on your lips.
"oh," he echoes mockingly, and you would laugh if you weren't so full, so stretched, so desperately aware of how much more of him is waiting to sink inside you. "that's all you've got?"
he pushes forward again and this time your body gives, your slick walls yielding around his width with a wet, stretching sound that fills the quiet room, and the sensation is so much—a blinding, toe-curling fullness—that a choked sob escapes you before you can catch it. tears spill down your temples into your hair, hot and embarrassing, and you turn your face into the pillow, ashamed of yourself, ashamed that your body is responding this way to something you wanted so badly.
michael stops immediately, and for one terrible second you think he's going to pull out, going to end this before it begins, but instead he's brushing the tears from your cheek with his thumb, still buried inside you, still stretching you impossibly wide, still throbbing against your spasming walls.
"are you crying?" he asks, and he's incredulous, not cruel, his big nose scrunching the way it does when he's trying not to frown. "wanna tap out?"
"g-god no," you whimper, but there's no heat in it, just humiliation and sensation warring for dominance inside your body. he's so deep now, so full of him that you can barely think, can barely do anything except feel the impossible weight and width of him pressing against parts of you that have never been touched by anything other than his fingers. your walls are clamped around him so tight that you can feel every ridge, every vein, the throb of his heartbeat where he's buried inside you, and tears keep slipping out sideways because your body doesn't know what to do with this much, this fullness, this intensity.
"hey, hey," he murmurs, and now his voice has dropped the teasing entirely, replaced with that low, warm tone that he uses with the cats when they're scared, that he uses with you when the world gets too loud. he doesn't move, doesn't thrust, just holds himself deep inside you and presses his lips to your forehead, your closed eyelids, the wet tracks on your cheeks. "breathe, baby. just breathe."
"it's a lot," you choke out, and your hands are shaking where they grip his biceps, the muscles hard and hot under your palms. "you're—you're so—"
"big? yeah, we covered this." there it is again, that lopsided grin, and despite everything—the stretch, the tears, the overwhelming fullness—something in you wants to laugh because he's so impossibly annoying and so impossibly gentle at the same time. his hips shift, just barely, just rocking the smallest increment deeper, and your breath catches, a fresh tear spilling as your walls flutter around him in involuntary welcome.
"there we go..." he murmurs against your temple, and he's still not moving, still just lying over you with his weight distributed carefully, his cock buried to the hilt inside your slick, stretched walls, and you realize he's waiting, reading you, watching the tears slow, feeling the tension in your body begin to release around him. "you're doing so good," he says, and there's genuine warmth beneath the words, a pride that makes something bloom hot and bright in your chest. "told you you'd like it."
"i hate you," you say weakly, but your hips twitch upward, an involuntary experiment, and the slide of him—just that tiny movement—sends a shockwave through your nervous system that makes your toes curl and your breath stutter. he feels it, you know he does, because his eyes darken and his jaw tightens and you can feel his cock throb inside you, swelling impossibly thicker, pressing against walls that are already stretched to their limit.
"i know you don't, baby," he says, "but it's okay. it's a lot, hm?" and he starts to move, so slow you could cry all over again—from the tenderness of it, from the way he's letting your body learn him at its own pace, from the deep, aching drag of him pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in with that maddening, measured patience. each thrust sinks him deeper, fills you more completely, and your tears have stopped now, replaced by something molten and desperate building low in your belly. your legs wrap around his waist, and your heels press into the small of his back, pulling him closer, deeper, until his pelvis is flush against yours and there's no space left between you.
"there it is," he breathes, feeling your walls begin to pulse around him, your body clenching in rhythmic waves that make him groan, a broken sound that he buries in the crook of your neck.
you want to tell him he's arrogant, insufferable, that his ego is the size of his— but then he angles his hips and hits that spot deep inside you that makes your vision white out, and the only sound you can manage is his name, loud and wrecked, bouncing off the bedroom walls while he drives into you with increasing urgency, his restraint fraying, his big hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he holds you open for each punishing thrust. the bed is creaking, the headboard tapping the wall in a rhythm that will definitely carry through the apartment, and you don't care, you're past caring, your nails raking down his back and your voice breaking on sounds that aren't words anymore.
he's groaning too, loud and unashamed, his face buried in your hair, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. "feel you squeezing me, baby, feels so good—" and his voice cracks on the last word, his hips stuttering, his rhythm faltering as he fights to hold back, to make this last for you. you can feel him pulsing inside you, can feel the heat building at the base of his spine where your thighs press against him, and you roll your hips to meet his, taking him deeper, and when you come it's like falling off a cliff—silent, breathless, your whole body seizing around him as waves of pleasure crash through you in blinding white bursts, your slick gummy walls milking him so tight he can't move, can't do anything except bury himself deep and let go.
he fills you with a groan that shakes his entire frame, his big body shuddering above you as he pulses inside your clenching walls, hot and thick and endless, and you feel it spilling out around the base of him, dripping down your inner thighs, mixing with your own arousal until you're both slick and ruined and gasping. he collapses carefully beside you and pulls you against his chest, his heart hammering against your cheek, his spent cock twitching against your hip as he catches his breath.
for a long moment, neither of you speaks. socks scratches at the door, indignant, and michael laughs—a quiet, exhausted sound—pressing his lips to the top of your head. you could get used to this.
