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eternal-love · 27 days ago

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“I’m sorry” He says after fucking you relentlessly on the couch and leaving marks.

AND I WOULD PROUDLY LEAVE BITE MARKS, MARK MY WORDS. That man is a snack.

Also “It is avant-garde, DO NOT cover it.” okay, cultured queen.

Heavy Part 2

Label Mature 18+

🔗 Heavy

Summary Austin overpowers you with his strength—but this time you bite back.

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut ❤️‍🔥 Austin unrelenting-overpowering -playful • neurodivergent reader• easily distracted reader•teasing• dirty talk•being pinned •being crushed •kissed breathless•mild suffocation with a bicep•love biting Austins bicep • manhandling• sex on a couch • sex against a wall• orgasms • creampies • Austin doesn’t realize his own strength •Austin accidentally leaves love marks

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📖 Proofreader @purejasmine 💗Written by popular demand dedicated to 💝 @unicoo @soft-mama-reads @magicovento @burnthheparaphilia

Heavy Part 2

The house is quiet except for the faint grunts of Austin working out in the courtyard in full view of the living room. The rhythmic clang of weights and the sharp whir of a jump rope pulls your attention, distracting you from an otherwise routine morning.

As you glance out the window, you catch glimpses of him in action. His focus is unshakable, his body moving with precision, muscles flexing and glistening under the thin fabric of his muscle tee. Each jump of the rope is perfectly timed, the rhythm steady and unbroken, channeling every ounce of energy into his routine.

For a moment, you forget about the tea cooling in front of you on the table and the notifications piling up on your phone. The sight of him, so determined, so powerfully focused as he works out draws you in, making everything else fade into the background.

He has a photoshoot later in the afternoon and insists he has to look “perfected,” as he calls it. You know him well enough to recognize the slight edge in his tone when he mentioned the shoot—it’s not just another gig— It’s Esquire—Being on the cover is a big deal, even for someone like him, who’s always cool under pressure but tends to get a little high-strung when the stakes feel personal.

Seeing him fully in his routine you return to laying on the couch, half-heartedly scrolling through your phone while the TV plays a rerun of a show you’ve already seen. Your mind is scattered, drifting from one thought to another, completely unfocused.

When Austin walks in from the courtyard his broad shoulders nearly fill the doorframe. He’s now shirtless, a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his chest from his workout.

His biceps flex as he sets down his water bottle, and even though you try to act unfazed, your eyes betray you, lingering on the way his muscles move like they have a life of their own.

When he wipes down with a towel, you assume he’s heading to the shower, and slowly sink back into the couch losing yourself in your phone again.

Your begin reorganizing your photo gallery—renaming albums, sorting screenshots into folders, and deleting duplicates with meticulous precision—completely absorbed in the task.

But before you can finish renaming a folder titled “Our Getaways,” Austin’s voice cuts through the quiet.

“Hey,” he says, his voice carrying a deep, teasing tone that makes your heart flutter. “You’ve been staring at your phone all morning.” He confirms.

You blink up at him, your thoughts scrambled. “What? No, I haven’t.”

He towers over you lying on the couch, his arms crossing in playful challenge. “Yes, you have, and I know because you haven’t even looked at me this whole time.”

You grin, intentionally teasing him. “Why would I? You’re just working out…in the courtyard all shirtless…and… muscly.”

He grins mischievously and before you can react, he pulls you up off the couch as though you weigh nothing. “Muscly, huh? I’ll show you muscly.” He teases.

“Austin!” you yelp, half-laughing, half-protesting as he pulls you down on the couch to straddle his lap, his arms caging you with an unfair ease.

You squirm and struggle, the feeling of being held against him arousing you in the most thrilling way. His biceps flex as he adjusts his grip, keeping you firmly in place like it’s nothing at all.

“Where do you think you’re going hm?” he teases, his voice low and amused effortlessly countering your every move . “You know you’re not getting away from me.”

His voice is playful, but the way his strength surrounds you is forceful. Your hands instinctively find their way to his arm, fingers pressing into the hard muscle as you try to lift it, struggling to break free.

He easily resists your efforts and you can’t help but marvel at the power he doesn’t even seem to realize he has.

“It’s not fair!,” you grit out, but there’s no denying the way your lips curve into a mischievous grin. In a burst of impulsive frustration, you lean forward and sink your teeth into the peak of his bicep, biting hard enough to make a point.

“Did you just bite me?” he laughs filled with amusement, the playful attack doing absolutely nothing to him. His hands tighten firmly around your arms as he shifts his weight, effortlessly pinning you beneath him on the couch in retaliation.

“What was that supposed to do hm?” he teases, his tone low and filled with mock curiosity. “Did you really think that little bite would help you get away?”

You squirm under him, your protests half-hearted at best, and he smirks, leaning in closer, his voice dropping. “What’s next, huh? Kicking? Scratching? You really think you can take me down?”

His chest presses against yours, his solid frame a pleasant heaviness that makes your heart race, the sheer presence of him overwhelming you in the best way.

“Y-your too—Too much ” You groan squirming under him with no chance of escape

“Too much huh?” he repeats, his lips brushing your ear. “Says the girl who just bit into my bicep like a little bunny rabbit.”

You try to protest, but his weight keeps you pinned, the sheer presence of him thrilling in ways you can’t explain.

He tilts his head closer, his voice dropping lower. “Are you going to apologize for that little bite —or do I need to remind you how to behave?”

Your cheeks flush, as a small, breathless, “Sorry—Austin” escapes your lips.

“Not yet, you aren’t,” he confirms and his lips claim yours in a kiss that steals whatever air you had left.

His kiss deepens as hand moves with confidence, sliding down to the waistband of his sweats tugging low enough to free his impressive cock.

He pulls from back from the kiss, a smirk played on his lips as he hooks his fingers into the edge of your yoga leggings, pulling them down with effortless strength—a constant reminder of just how much you’re at his mercy.

“You’re awfully quiet now,” he says, his voice thick with amusement and something more primal. “What happened to all that squirming?”

You barely have time to respond before his cock presses against your slick entrance making you gasp, his teasing words trailing off into nothing as he thrusts inside.

A desperate little cry escapes your lips, the sheer size of him overwhelming as you tighten around his cock, feeling every inch of him settle deep inside

“You’re not going anywhere,” he rasps, his weight pressing you into the couch, pinning you completely. His powerful arms cage you in on either side, making his strength undeniable.

Your breaths hitch, turning into gasps as his hips move with unrelenting precision, thrusting deeper into you. The way he uses his strength so effortlessly to keep you in place sends a rush of pleasure through you leaving you moaning and whimpering under him on the couch.

“Austin,” you gasp, your voice trembling as his full weight crushes into you, and his eyes lock onto yours, dark with intent, watching every flicker of your struggle as your shallow breaths draw a smirk to his lips.

His hips rock against you in a steady, powerful rhythm, each movement purposeful and consuming. The force of him leaves you breathless, and you cling to his shoulders, your nails digging into the hard muscle desperate to hold on as his intensity builds, leaving no room for anything else.

Each thrust presses him deeper, as his hands moves to your thighs gripping tightly, his fingers digging into your skin with a strength that promises to leave bruises as you lay powerless beneath him.

“You—like this—don’t you?” he grunts, as he thrusts his hips forward “Being pinned down… knowing there’s no escape.”

Your lips part, but no words come out, just a choked gasp as your nails drag down his back, your body instinctively tightening around him in response.

“Admit it—” he rasps, his tone thick with heat, “You love it when I hold you down like this,” he confirms, his eyes dark and unrelenting.

A breathless moan is your only response, your body arching beneath him as he drives deeper, his muscles flexing as each thrust becomes more consuming than the last.

“That’s what I thought,” he whispers, his tone laced with satisfaction, his lips curling into a smirk as his pace grows harder, bolder, leaving you completely undone beneath him.

Your walls clenching tightly around his cock, as you being to orgasm, the overwhelming sensation stealing the breath from your lungs. Your gasps turn into desperate, shallow breaths as your body struggles to arch beneath him, trembling uncontrollably.

Sensing how close you are, he presses more of his weight against you, his chest crushing yours as he leans down. He shifts his arm, lifting his thick bicep over your mouth, muffling your moans as you gasp for air against the firm muscle.

You kick and squirm violently, your movements barely shifting under his overpowering strength. Your struggle as you fight not to suffocate ignites something primal in him, his eyes glinting with teasing, dark intent.

His voice drops, low and, as he leans closer. “Come on, do it,” he taunts, the corner of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “C’mon, do it little bunny. Bite me—just like you did before.”

Your moan is muffled as your desperation and impulse collide, and you sink your teeth into the hard curve of his bicep.

The moment you do, a deep, guttural groan escapes his lips vibrating against your chest. His hips snap harder, his thrusts turning rougher, matching the wildness of your bite.

“That’s it,” he growls, his tone heavy with satisfaction and pleasure. “I knew you couldn’t resist it.” He rasps . His bicep flexes against your teeth as he thrusts deeper, and you moan in pleasure as your orgasm takes hold. Your body trembles against his unrelenting strength, pinned completely under his control, leaving you utterly lost in the heat of him.

His arm slides from your mouth and the moans that escape are raw and unhinged, matching his low groans and sharp breaths. His muffled curses spill against your skin as his lips brush along your neck between every thrust, his movements unrelenting as he buries himself into you over and over again.

When he finally starts to come, his thrusts become punishing, his hips colliding into you with unrelenting force as his head drops to your shoulder. His breaths are heavy and uneven against your skin, the sounds he makes sharp and ragged, his body thrusting against yours with desperate intensity.

Your soft whimpers of pleasure spur him on, and his hips jerk violently, each movement, pushing you both to the edge. His hands slide to your waist, his grip tightening as he holds you firmly in place.

With a final, deep thrust, his cock twitches inside of you as he comes. Surges of his release spill into you as a guttural moan escapes his lips, your voices intertwining as you both moan in pleasure.

His lips capture yours in a deeply passionate kiss, his tongue teasing yours as you gasp for air, fighting against his intensity.

When he finally slows, he eases up as his heavy cock slips out of you, watching the way your chest rises and falls as you struggle to catch your breath.

Then his eyes narrow, the softness of his features tensing as he notices the faint bruises blooming on your arms where his hands had gripped you too tightly.

His fingers brush over one of the marks, guilt flickering across his face. “Baby I bruised you” he says, his voice apologetic.

Before you can respond, he leans down, his lips pressing gentle kisses to the bruised spots on your arms, as if trying to soften the marks of his intensity. “I’m so sorry” he whispers.

Then his attention shifts to your hips, his jaw tightening as he sees the even darker marks there, vivid and unmistakable. “Baby…,” he says his voice trailing off with guilt as his thumb brushes over the sensitive skin where his grip had been strongest. “I didn’t even realize.”

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips as you sit up slightly, taking in the sight of the marks on your body. “Don’t apologize,” you say, your voice soft but certain as you glance up at him with affection. “They’re mine now—My love marks.”

His eyes meet yours, a flicker of curiosity in his expression as pulls back, then both of your eyes land on the bite mark etched in his bicep. The deep indentations of your teeth red and stark against the hard muscle.

“Looks like you left your own love mark,” he says, as he flexes his bicep slightly, the muscle shifting beneath the imprint.

You bite your lip softly as you smirk, a mixture of pride and guilt flickering in your eyes as your fingers brush over the bite mark. “Had to even the score somehow,” you say your eyes lighting up secretly thrilled by your mark on him.

His smiles as he leans down, brushing his lips against yours . “Guess you’re good at leaving lasting reminders, huh?”

“Mmm—,” you reply scrunching your nose feeling your cheeks warming with a twinge of guilt, as your fingers trail over his bicep. “This is more like proof I wasn’t holding back.” You admit.

His smile deepens, his lips returning to yours for another kiss, slower this time, filled with tenderness. “My cute little bunny” he replies against your lips, his voice soft but firm. “Never hold back with me.”

The morning moves quickly as you and Austin get ready for his Esquire photoshoot. He’s dressed and ready, standing by the door with his bag in hand, while you’re still muttering to yourself, frantically rummaging through your bag in search of your phone.

“Baby, please,” Austin calls out, glancing at the time with a mix of urgency and amusement.

“I know, I know,” you mumble, distracted as you empty half the contents of your bag onto the dresser.

You know you can’t make him late—not again. His team has already warned you, and Austin, ever patient but firm, had even gotten you a watch to help with your habit of constantly misplacing your phone.

“Where is it?” you mutter, frantically checking your closet for the third time before finally using the watch to beep your phone. It buzzes loudly from the vanity, mocking your efforts as it sits in plain sight

“Okay, okay,” you say hurriedly, grabbing the phone and pulling your purse over your shoulder.

He sighs in relief, a small smile tugging at his lips. “We might actually be on time for once baby,” he chides.

You roll your eyes playfully as he grabs the keys, holding the door open for you. “I’m learning,” you remark with a smirk, slipping past him. “Slowly, but I’m getting there.”

He chuckles, his hand grazing your back as you both step out. “I’ll believe it when it’s not a last-minute miracle,” he teases, locking the door behind you.

When you arrive to the outdoor shoot location, the crew is busy with excitement.

The photographer greets Austin enthusiastically, clearly thrilled to see him, while the rest of the team scurries around adjusting lighting rigs, testing camera angles, and setting up props.

You settle under the shade of the outdoor tent in a fold out chair, watching as Austin mingles briefly with the crew. He radiates confidence, but you know him well enough to see the small signs of his nerves—like the way he bites his lip when he speaks and how he runs a hand through his hair more than usual.

The excitement dims slightly when Austin heads into the wardrobe trailer. Within moments, an assistant rushes out, her expression tense as she hurries over to the photographer.

The photographer immediately gets on his phone pacing back and forth with it pressed to his ear, frustration etched across his face as you hear snippets of the conversation.

“First the scratches, and now he has an actual bite mark on his arm. Is it avant-garde, or do we cover it?”

Your face flushes bright red at the implication, heat rushing to your cheeks as you sink lower in your chair and you glance toward Austin when he emerges fully clothed near the setup.

His eyes flick to yours, catching the mortified expression on your face and his lips curl into a knowing smirk as your brows knit together in guilt.

He just shakes his head slightly, clearly amused, before walking to the main set.

His effortless charm takes over as he climbs onto the lifeguard tower they’ve chosen as the backdrop for the first round of shots.

The leather pants he’s wearing cling perfectly, accentuating his long legs and lean build, while the white tee keeps the look clean and classic.

As the photographer starts directing, you watch as the crew moves with practiced precision, adjusting reflectors, angling fans for the perfect wind blown look, and shifting lights to get the exact mood they want. The photographer calls out directions:

“Turn your head slightly to the left Austin —perfect. Relax the shoulders. Give me that brooding look. Now lean back—yes, just like that.”

When Austin leans back resting his arms over his head to show his muscular arms, your eyes immediately catch your bite mark in his bicep, bold and unmistakable, and you bite your lip feeling the embarrassment flaring all over again.

The makeup artist rushes forward, brush and powder in hand, climbing the rungs trying to cover the mark even more. They dab at it repeatedly, but the raised edges still show.

“Don’t worry, this is what Photoshop is for,” the photographer says flatly, waving the makeup artist off with a touch of impatience.

Austin looks directly at you from his perch, his expression unmistakably peeved by the attention the mark is getting.

You wince, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. You know how much he prides himself on his clean and classic image, and that this sudden shift in his focus wasn’t what he’d envisioned for the shoot at all.

Sitting under the tent, you can’t help but wonder if the choice to stay covered was his or the photographer’s. Austin had been so excited about doing shirtless shots earlier, and you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt knowing your impulsive actions might have ruined his plan.

As the shoot drags on, your thoughts alternate between boredom and the growing need of wanting to go home.

Austin, ever the professional, powers through each pose and direction with effortless focus. You’re fascinated as he transforms with each new outfit—a sleek trench coat and suit, followed by jeans and a worn tee paired with a rugged duster jacket.

He’s stunningly handsome, every look effortlessly suiting him, and as you watch him move with such ease in front of the camera, you can’t help but smile.

As he catches your eyes at the end of his final set, his gaze is sharp and intent, making you feel both nervous and curious about what he’s thinking. Despite the shoot’s success, his stare is a silent reminder that he hasn’t forgotten how you marked him, leaving you wondering what he might say—or do once you’re alone.

By the time you finally make it home, you’re completely drained. Seeking comfort, you dive onto the couch, immersing your self in your phone as the rest of the world fades away.

Austin sits in the arm chair of the living room, now in blue adidas track pants and a white tee, but he still hasn’t shaken off the sharp energy from the shoot.

He scrolls through the photos on his laptop, reviewing the proofs sent over by the photographer.

He glances toward you, noticing how focused your face is as you watch another tutorial video.

“Did you have to bite me that hard?” he asks, his tone exasperated.

You turn to look at him with wide eyes, your cheeks heating at the memory. “Austin, I didn’t mean to,” you defend, your voice tinged with guilt, knowing this moment was coming.

“Mmhm,” he replies, still scrolling through the photos on his laptop. “I’ve got your little love mark immortalized in half the proofs from today,” he reveals, his tone dry but tinged with amusement. “The makeup artist gave up, you know. Photoshop is officially doing the heavy lifting.”

“Austin, I’m sorry,” you finally say, stepping closer, your voice soft with guilt.

“No, you’re not,” he counters, his eyes flicking up to meet yours and as he stands, there’s a hint of something challenging in his gaze as he steps toward you.

“You actually smirked when you bit me. Don’t try to deny it,” he confirms, his voice his voice edged with accusation as he moves closer, leaving almost no space between you.

You take a small step back, your movement halted as your back brushes against the wall behind you. He follows without hesitation, closing the distance with deliberate ease. His hands find the wall on either side of your head, caging you in as his eyes lock onto yours.

“You knew exactly what you were doing,” he asserts, his voice filled with heat as he leans in, his lips just a breath away from your ear. “And you’re not sorry at all, are you?”

Your breath hitches as his proximity overwhelms you, his broad frame pinning you against the wall. His weight presses into you slightly, his hands staying firmly in place on the wall as he tilts his head, his gaze dark and full of intent.

“I think you liked leaving your little mark,” he slowly grins, his tone a mix of accusation and amusement, his lips brushing the corner of your jaw. “Maybe even a little too much.”

Your heart races, caught between the weight of his words and the intensity of his closeness.

“I-I didn’t,” you stammer, your voice now uncertain, faltering as his eyes narrow. The weight of his gaze is sharp and assessing , making it impossible to hold his stare.

“You’re lying,” he says firmly, his voice low and commanding. “Say the truth.”

“I-I’m not lying!” you protest weakly, but the flicker of hesitation in your eyes betrays you

Before you can think of a response, he steps closer, his hands grabbing your thighs as he effortlessly lifts you, pinning you back against the wall. You gasp as he wraps your legs around his waist, his broad shoulders pressing into you, his strength leaving you completely at his mercy.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice deep and thick with intent as he adjusts your position, his arms holding you firmly in place. “Say you wanted to mark me,” he whispers, his hips pressing firmly against yours, his arousal unmistakable. “Don’t make me force it out of you.”

You bite your lip, trying to resist, but the way his hard body holds you against the wall, his muscles taut and overpowering, sends heat coursing through you. Your breath quickens, arousal building as his words linger in the air, igniting something undeniable. Looking directly into his eyes, you whisper a soft, defiant “No,” fully aware of what you’re inviting.

His hand goes to the waist band of his adidas track pants, lowering them with ease and freeing his hard throbbing cock.

With one swift motion, he slips your panties aside lining himself up and thrusts into you hard, the force of it stealing your breath as your head tilts back against the wall gasping for breath.

The intensity builds with every powerful thrust, his grip on you tightening as he holds you in place effortlessly, his strength overwhelming and intoxicating.

You cling to him, your body trembling as he pushes you to the brink, your mind dissolving into pure sensation. You don’t just accept it—you love it, surrendering completely to the raw, unrelenting passion he unleashes.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice rough as his lips hover just over yours, his eyes locked on your face. “Say you wanted to mark me”

“Yes!” you cry out finally, unable to hold back. “I loved it! I loved leaving my mark on you!”

A satisfied smirk spreads across his face as he captures your lips in a hard, searing kiss, his hands anchoring you against him as his hips move relentlessly.

His strength keeps you pinned as he drives you higher, your cries of pleasure swallowed by his mouth until your release hits, and you tremble uncontrollably, orgasming in his powerful arms.

His movements become erratic, his breath catching as he groans deeply against your lips. His body tenses, his grip on you tightening as he buries himself deep, releasing in powerful surges, the heat of his come sending a final shiver through you.

Your breaths are in heavy gasps as the intensity finally eases, his movements slowing as you both calm down. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his smirk returning as his eyes gleam with satisfaction.

“I told you not to hold back with me,” he confirms, his voice low and filled with teasing affection.

You shiver, your fingers trailing over the mark on his bicep, feeling the hardness of his muscles still flexed beneath your touch. “I didn’t want to admit that I liked it,” you say, a small smile curving your lips, your voice soft.

“I know you liked it,” he replies, his smirk turning darker as he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a way that makes your heart race. “Next time—just don’t mark me the day of a photo shoot, hm?” he adds, gesturing to his bicep.

You grin, looking into his eyes, basking in the approval hidden in his teasing tone. Unable to resist, you kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you let your lips do all the apologizing, knowing that no mark is needed to prove he’s yours.

END 💪🏼

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