#It's like the eiffel tower in space | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mountainsandmayhem · 9 months ago

Text

BDSMaid - Chapter 5 (Part One)

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

Chapter Summary: You let Mister Miller help you out of a slump and learn you might like a little pain

WC: 8.9k

CW: Reader as some descriptors (freckles, long hair etc) so this might be more of an original character vs female reader. Dom/Sub dynamics, pet names (sweet girl, baby, baby girl etc). More CW in red below the cut but will contain spoilers.

AN: THANK YOU for being sooooo patient with me while I delayed this chapter. This is only HALF of the chapter and as soon as my lovely @lotusbxtch beta's the other half I will post it. No pressure thought, bb!! I just couldn't WAIT to share this since you've all been so wonderful and supportive. Moodboard by me, dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

CW: riding crop, oral (male and female receiving), male masturbation, female orgasms, hand cuffs, deep throating/face fucking, descriptions of self doubt and panic attacks; reader is going through it, ok? Hair pulling, Joel is a bit mean but he does it with love and care. Joel being a consent and aftercare king.

Joel

Joel sits on the Trocadéro platform of Café de l’Homme, the birds chirping and the sound of rustling papers keeping him from getting too lost in his thoughts of you. Sarah sits across from him, a stunning view of the Eiffel Tower to their left, and a buying agreement typed out in French taking up most of the table. Joel might not look like it, but he can see himself eventually living out his years in either Paris or Italy. He speaks enough French and Italian to get by, but relies on Sarah to read over the contract for her new condo. His baby girl is a doctor and now that she’s almost a year into her surgery residency, this condo is her graduation present finally coming to fruition.

He looks down at his phone, opening the text thread he has with you. He’s been trying to give you space to study this week, telling himself each day that this isn’t what you signed up for but he can’t help himself, and when you responded with a selfie of yourself in your maid discreetly polo the other day he knew there was no way he’d be able to keep that pledge to himself anymore. Joel looks at the time, factoring in the time change, and your LSAT retake is in a few hours. His thumbs move on their own.

Good Morning. Good luck on your LSAT today.

He attaches a picture of the coffee he had that morning before hitting send.

The waiter comes by to take their orders, Sarah’s French flowing from her lips as easily as she breathes, happily telling the waiter what both her and her dad will have. Joel mutters a ‘merci’ as the waiter nods.

Thank you. That coffee looks a lot better than mine.

A selfie of you, all pink cheeked and smiling follows. A paper to go cup with a plastic lid in your hand beside your face.

Were you running?

“How’s it going over there?” Joel says over his phone screen to Sarah, her focus is intent on the stack of papers in front of her.

“Shh, I’m reading,” she says lightly as the waiter opens an expensive looking bottle of white wine and pours a little for her to try. After taking her small sip and nodding at the waiter she looks to her dad. “What? I thought we were celebrating!”

He shakes his head, laughing at his daughter as both of them look back at what they were doing.

Yes. I run most mornings. Gotta clear my head.

What’s bothering you, sweet girl?

You know, you calling me that has the same effect as me calling you Mister Miller.

Ok, we’ll just call each other by our names then.

Joel is so wrapped up in his little bubble with you that he doesn’t notice Sarah sitting back and watching him as she sips her wine.

That’s no fun, let’s come up with safe nicknames.

He feels the side of cheek tug up. She’s so fucking cute.

Alright, I’m calling you giggles

What am I, a rodeo clown?

Joel laughs silently to himself, not realizing that he’s sporting a full and cheesy ear to ear grin across his face.

Fine - Freckles

Eww, that’s what the mean girls in high school used to call me

Well the hot, successful man who owns a sex club and supplies your orgasms finds your freckles incredibly sexy. What’s my safe nickname?

“Who are you texting?” Sarah says, her voice thick with amusement.

Joel clicks his phone shut, laying it face down on the table. He wipes the smile off his face and looks up at Sarah like a child who just got caught stealing candy. “No one. Just work stuff.”

“Uh huh, sure dad. I know that smile. Did you meet someone?”

Joel grabs his wine, taking a larger drink then necessary. A drink of someone who’s lying. There’s no way he can tell his daughter about this. Sure, Sarah knows about the club but they never talk about what goes on there. “No! Of course not. I’m too busy for that.”

Her eyes blink to his phone as it vibrates on the table, but he keeps his attention on Sarah, his wine glass looking comically small in his large hand. “I’ll just ask uncle Tommy.”

“Funny story, he’s been removed from the family.” He deadpans.

“Tess will tell me then,” Sarah says, her and her dad both challenging each other jokingly.

“Who? Never heard of a Tess before,” Joel says, crossing his arms.

Sarah laughs into her wine glass, “Ok dad. Look, I want you to meet someone, so don’t hold back on my account. Seriously, you’re a catch and have been alone for a long time.”

“I don’t want to talk about it with you, Sarah. Not yet at least.” His phone vibrates again and she cocks an eyebrow before going back to her papers.

Joel scoops up his phone to read your texts.

Huh, suddenly I’m over being bullied. Weird. Oh, I have the peeerrrfect nickname for you!

Go on, Freckles…

Sweet Cheeks, cuz seriously Miller, dat ass.

Daaaammmnn!

You’re treading on mighty thin ice, baby girl

Joel, I have a serious question…

Go on?

Are your suit pants tailored TO your ass?!

Joel chokes on his wine, trying to stifle his laugh.

“Alright, who is she?”

“Fine. I met someone, but she’s really young, like younger than you, Sarah. And she’s leaving soon for law school so it’s just best if I don’t talk about it.”

Sarah smiles at her dad. “First of all, I don’t care if she’s younger than me, especially seeing you smile like that. Do you have any idea how many of the girls at college wanted you? You're my dad, so it’s gross to say, but you were the campus DILF.”

Joel feels himself blushing as she continues, “Second of all, you don’t have to end things just because of school. Me and Wyatt maintained our relationship while I was in New York and he was in Seattle.” As she wiggles the pear shaped diamond on her left hand the waiter brings out their food, and Joel changes the subject to the condo that he just bought for his incredible daughter.

Our little girl did it, Tiff. Thank you for giving her to me, he thinks.

You

“That’s time, everyone,” The proctor calls from the front of the stuffy, windowless room that you and forty five other law school hopefuls have been in for just over three hours.

You let out a slow breath, cheeks puffing and eyes fluttering closed. You didn’t finish, last time you finished, and the proctor has been eyeing you the entire time. He knows, he fucking knows you aren’t nearly as qualified or as smart as the rest of the people in this room. That line from Gilmore Girls, something about having shiny Harvard hair is all your anxiety can focus on. The people in this room have Havard hair, even the men. You don’t belong here.

You’ve never been in a lower spot and after the high of the flirty text conversation with Joel this morning you didn’t anything could get you down. In the span of just a few hours you’ve been completely torn apart, you can feel the panic attack clawing greedily at your chest. You fucking blew it, all of it. You blew your chances at law school, you blew your future as a lawyer and, in turn, your future as a judge. You’ll be cleaning houses forever, and not that there’s anything wrong with being a professional maid, but it’s not your goal.

Maybe I was fucking stupid for only having one goal. Maybe I need to do something else with my degree. Maybe my father was right, I’m nothing and I’ll always be nothing. Maybe my mother was right too, I’m the smartest girl at home but the world is going to chew me up and spit me out. It’s doing that right now, isn’t it?

Your feet take you to the locker where your phone’s been locked up, and then out to your car. You don’t notice the warm late March air when you leave the testing building and there's a good chance that you jay walked, narrowly missing being hit by a car as you walked to the parking lot. Before turning the key in the ignition you open your phone, there’s a little red bubble on the JMK app. When you tap on it you have a new calendar section and Joel has invited you to the club tomorrow night. You stare down at it, waiting and hoping to feel something. That excited giddiness you usually feel, or the butterflies that typically erupt in your stomach, but nothing comes. You close out of the app without accepting the invite and drive home.

A soft knock on your door pulls you from the anxiety-ridden nightmares you’ve been slipping in and out of. In the first one, you were having your degree taken away. In the second, you were sitting on the end of the bed in Joel’s private room looking out a window into the voyeur room. Joel was walking another woman around, similar to how he did with you the first time. The one that your roommate interrupted involved you being completely naked while trying to find your first class at Harvard.

“Babe?” Odette’s calm voice fills your room, “You ok?”

You tap your phone screen: 9 pm. You’ve been passed out all afternoon and evening.

“Ya, just had a hard day.” You try to move out from the blankets, but they’re tangled around your limbs; a clear sign that you were restless in your sleep.

“Are you hungry? I ordered pizza. You have a few more college letters too, I think three were in the mailbox today.” Her voice is light and excited, as if she’s trying to pump you up.

“Thanks, O. I’ll, umm, I’ll be out in a sec.”

The door shuts gently and the tears finally come. Five minutes, you tell yourself, before you start sobbing into your pillow to not alert Odette. After your allotted crying time is up, you open your phone. Messages from Jamie and Laren are left on read before you slide into the JMK app and accept Joel's request to meet at the club tomorrow night. You join Odette for a late dinner, but there’s no way you’re opening those letters tonight.

Cap drops you off outside of the club the next night. This seems to be the officially unofficial routine of being Joel’s sub and you aren’t sure why. Cap confirmed last time that he didn’t do this for the other girls; you don’t deserve special treatment.

Any treatment, really, you think. Even the little box of feelings in your mind feels the same way, sulking sadly in the dark corner you banished it to.

The black marble foyer feels cold and mocking tonight, even with the beautiful hostess smiling brightly and greeting you by name. As you turn towards the entrance to the club, a man dressed in an impeccable black suit holds his arm out for you.

“Good evening, Miss. Joel asked me to escort you to his room tonight.”

You nod, forcing a smile and a thank you. All this black feels like he’s walking you to your own funeral. As you step into the club there are people everywhere. Couples are dancing, people are taking up the tables and the barstools. The deep bass of the music thumps through the club and the nagging pressure behind your right eye threatens to pop it right from its socket.

The security guard holds his wrist to the pad on the door and holds it open for you.

“Thanks,” you say again through another fake smile.

The door clicks behind you and the music dulls, the only light on this side of the door comes from the propped open door of Mister Miller’s room. You rap your knuckles lightly on the door frame and Joel steps into view. Your eyes travel from his shiny black dress shoes, up the perfectly tailored black dress pants and fitted white dress shirt. His sleeves are rolled to his elbows, exposing the strong muscle lined forearms that usually drive you wild. You stand there, waiting and hoping to feel something, but just like in your car yesterday, nothing comes. Meanwhile, he’s smiling at you as if he’s just discovered the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

“Hi, my sweet girl,” Joel’s voice usually coats you like warm molasses, especially when he calls you his. But the rejection letters feel like they have plastered themselves onto you, seemingly creating a hard shell, keeping that miserable gray fog from escaping.

“Hi, Mister Miller,” you say obediently, hoping he doesn’t notice anything is wrong.

He motions for you to come inside, and pulls you into his arms as the door quietly clicks shut behind you. You wrap yours around his waist subconsciously as he presses his lips to your forehead. You’re sure the two of you have embraced like this before but right now it feels foreign. “What’s wrong?”

Fuck.

“Nothing. I’m sorry, it’s just been a long few days. I’m sorry, I can go. I don’t want to drag you down.” Your hands fist his dress shirt, a silent cry for him to not let you leave as an annoying dry lump forms in your throat.

“Hey, no. Don’t be sorry, baby girl.” His hands run long, slow lines up and down your back as he brings his forehead to meet yours.

The pounding of the music on the other side of the club fades away completely as his eyes melt into yours. It's absurd that you missed him, isn’t it? You are his submissive, nothing else. But when he looks at you the way he is now it’s hard to remember up from down. The pressure behind your eye dissipates as one of his hands cups the nape of your neck and squeezes gently. From the outside eye, you could almost argue that he’s acting as if he missed you too.

His voice is a soft whisper as he continues, “Did you want to talk about it?”

Maybe it’s his years of experience as a dom and taking care of his subs. Or maybe this is just normal for him, but you aren’t used to someone wanting to talk about it. You’re used to a quick hug and a shitty pep talk. His hands felt heavenly on your clothed body, but as they brush against the bare skin of your neck to cup your cheeks they’re out of this world. This strong, successful, handsome man is giving you his full attention, wants to give you his full attention, and as his nose runs down yours it finally happens.

Your body is flooded with that familiar desire. Your breathing catches as you practically moan, “No, I need you to make me forget. Help me, Mister Miller. Please?”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, exposing that dimple that makes him so damn endearing as he pulls his face back from yours. “I’m going to push you tonight, sweet girl.” He slides your faux leather jacket off, letting it hit the floor. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, Mister Miller,” you say, your voice turning husky.

His eyes dance around your features and with a single blink he switches. You don’t think you could ever describe it, but it’s like he puts on a mask. His soft brown eyes turn almost onyx, the muscles in his jaw seem flexed, but it’s his voice that really gives away when he’s transformed into his fully dominant form. Joel’s voice is deep yet has a soft aura. Mister Miller's voice on the other hand is full of gravel, and nothing is a suggestion.

“Take off your clothes.”

Joel steps back, watching as you slip your bare feet out of your sandals. You felt underdressed tonight, but you just couldn’t convince yourself to put together an outfit. Your denim shorts and oversized black t-shirt come off easily and after stepping out of your shorts you look up at Mister Miller. His tongue runs along his bottom lip as he takes you in, eyes widening at your lack of bra and panties tonight.

“Dirty little girl.” He accentuates every word as his eyes travel a burning path up and down your exposed skin and then to the side of the room behind you. “See that pillow?”

You spin slowly, a black velvet pillow sits on the floor, handcuffs hanging above it from a chain connected to the ceiling. You look over your bare shoulder at Joel who simply juts his chin towards it in a silent command. As you walk towards the pillow, the metallic clink of his ring hitting the ceramic dish washes over you. Goosebumps spread across your skin and you feel the anxiety leaving your body. The doubt that has been screaming at you dulls to a barely-there whisper. For a second you feel weightless, floating towards the black pillow like the little styrofoam packing peanuts you used to place in rain run off as a kid.

‘No one has ever made you feel like this’. The little box of feelings says from the dark, ‘He’d take care of you, if you let him.’ You push that box deeper into the archives of your mind as you stop in front of the pillow.

Joel’s voice is deep, almost a menacing growl from behind you as he says, “Kneel.”

Your mind shuts off completely as you comply, dropping to your knees, facing the wall, and tucking your feet underneath you.

“Toes planted on the floor, sweet girl.” You adjust how you're sitting, exposing the soles of your feet to Joel as he walks towards you, his expensive dress shoes clicking slightly on the hardwood. You can feel the heat of his body as he stops just inches from your bare skin. “Good. Hands up.”

His touch is gentle as he places the cuffs around your wrists. “What’s your safeword?”

“Stegosaurus,” you say softly.

“Louder!” He barks.

You jump slightly before saying it again with confidence, “Stegosaurus.”

Joel takes a small step towards the wall and tugs the other end of the chain to pull it tighter, stretching your arms up above your head. You’re almost lifted off your knees. A small piece of leather running up and down your spine and your breathing starts to speed up. The anticipation of what’s to come almost has you bursting at the seams.

“This is a riding crop. You said you’re interested in impact play, as well as paddles, whips and crops. Is that correct?”

You nod, your throat going dry and voice cracking as you say, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

“How’d your LSAT go, baby?”

“I…I th-think I failed,” you murmur.

A sharp snapping sound fills the room, quickly followed by red hot pain on your right ass cheek; you gasp at the sensation.

The soft leather goes back to tracing your spine, slowly up and down, almost feather light and ticklish. “Again, how did your LSAT go?”

“I’m sorry, Mister Miller. But,” your try to swallow the dry lump in your throat. “I think I failed.”

As if he’s had years of sniper training, he strikes you in the exact same spot. This time your body jerks, the chains rattling above you as you cry out. However, the heat of this strike spreads right to your clit, and your cry morphs into a whine of pleasure.

“Sweet girl, do you belong to me?” He trails the leather along your hip, slowly teasing up your side.

“Y-Yes, Mister Miller.”

“Does it look like I own things that aren’t perfect?” The soft end of the crop continues its trail, over the side of your breast and to your armpit.

“No.” You whisper.

I can’t do this, he’s going to ask me to say I’m perfect and I can’t do it.

“I don’t appreciate you talking bad about something I own.” A strike lands on the sole of your left foot, you hadn’t even realized the crop had moved from your arm. He taps the foot again, lighter this time but the pain from the first strike hasn’t ceased, a strangled cry passes your lips. “Especially when what you’re talking about is yourself.”

Another strike hits your right ass cheek and the red hot stings of it causes you to shoot up onto your knees. The chains above you rattle and go slack. Joel makes a noise similar to a growl behind you before two quick snaps land on the back of both of your thighs. “Kneel, sweet girl.”

You’re shocked by the moans and gasps that are filling the room, sounds that are unconsciously coming from your own mouth. Your pussy is throbbing and as you settle back onto your heels you realize how wet you are. You didn’t think you’d like this this much.

“You need to learn how to stay still without being tied down.”

“Sorry, Mister Miller,” you whine through the panting breaths you’re taking.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he says, striking your left cheek and then gently rubbing along your ass. “How did your LSAT go?”

“I…It…I don’t know,” you say defeatedly.

He hits the sole of your left foot again, then your right ass cheek and this time your body acts on its own, your hips tilting to push your ass out towards Joel, a needy moan filling the room. “Come on, baby girl. Use your words.”

“It was harder then I remember,” you hum, your body practically vibrating with need. God, you can’t believe how good this feels.

The crop makes a slow line from the top of your ass, up your spine again and you tense up, sucking in a big breath. “Relax, my sweet girl. Until we talk about it, I will never strike you anywhere above the waist.”

“In fact,” he continues. “Anywhere here,” he draws a big circle along your entire lower back, “Should never, ever, be hit.”

“Ok, th-thank you.” You sink onto your heels again, your inner thighs are almost slippery with how turned on you are.

Joel laughs lightly, “You’re welcome. So, it was harder than you remember?”

“Y-yes. I think I failed, Joel.” As soon you say it, you know you’ve fucked up. Eight quick, sharp snaps of the crop hit; two on each ass cheek and two on each foot, all at random. It’s over faster than you can apologize, and the walls of your pussy spasm with each crack of leather on skin. “Sorry, Mister Mill, hnng, M-Miller.”

Your head falls back, eyes fluttering closed as he speaks. “Again, it was harder than you remember?”

You whine before whispering, “Yes, but I tried my hardest.”

“Up,” Joel commands, pulling the chain so you’re up on your knees. “Good girl. Spread your legs.”

He bends down behind you, the heat of his broad upper body warming your back. His strong hands grip your waist to steady you as you walk your knees out. “That’s it, good job sweet girl.”

His praise shifts everything. Sure, maybe you failed, but you are stronger than a little test. You are bigger than law school. If you don’t get in, you’ll try again and you’ll keep on trying, because you can do anything. A bright light shines on the little box of feelings.

The crop lightly tapping your inner thigh brings your back to the moment. “Please, Mister Miller.”

“You don’t have to ask, sweet girl. If this is enough to make you come then let go for me.” He whispers, trailing the leather of the crop up your thigh before trailing down the other.

“I need you to touch me,” you whine, letting your head fall forward.

“Aww, poor baby,” he mocks before bringing the little leather square between your legs and taps lightly against your swollen clit.

“Oh god, oh god, don’t stop,” you moan.

“Yea? My perfect sweet girl gonna come?”

“Yes,” you cry, head now falling back, your mouth falling open in a silent scream.

"Tell me,” he commands, stopping the tapping and just letting the soft leather rest against you, “Tell me you're perfect.”

“No, please,” you murmur.

“Tell me you’re perfect and you can come, sweet girl.” The crop is barely touching you now.

“I’m perfect,” you whine.

He smacks your clit harder once, twice and with the third snap of the crop you fall over the edge. The chains rattle as pleasure consumes you. Your orgasm rolls through you so hard and all you can do is take it. You moan loudly and your legs start to give out beneath you, the handcuffs and chain above you the only thing holding you up.

Joel

Fuck, she looks absolutely stunning when she finally submits. My beautiful, broken girl. She’s so smart, so driven, always pushing, pushing, pushing. Always taking care of everyone else. I wish she’d just let go, let me take care of her.

As you slump forward he drops the riding crop, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you up, as he undoes the cuffs. You go completely boneless in his arms, your back pressed to his front, his soft lips peppering kisses along the top of your glistening shoulder. “You did so well, sweetheart. God, you’re so beautiful.”

He supports your weakened body, lowering you to the floor and rolling you onto your back. He pushes the hair that’s stuck to your sweat soaked forehead back. The soft and mischievous smile across your face is exactly what he was hoping for; you’re not ready to be done yet and luckily, neither is he.

“I’m not done with you,” he whispers, gravel in his throat, before kissing your forehead.

Joel stands and takes a few long strides across the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. He can feel your eyes glued to him as he walks away. After your joke about his pants he picked a pair that's extra snug, just for you. He’s never picked an outfit for a sub before, and this just further proves that even if he’s not ready to fully admit it to himself yet, you are so much more than just a sub.

“Sweet girl, come here.” He pats his thigh. As you sit up he says, “No, I want you to crawl to me.”

Your eyes widen, cheeks flushing, and his heart nearly flutters right out of his fucking chest as you say, “What?”

He leans forward, forearms resting on his knees. He wants to wrap you in his arms and praise you, but you’re responding so well to him being mean and he knows you need him to keep going. “I said to fucking crawl.”

When you get on your hands and knees, his cock swells to its full potential, pushing painfully behind the zipper of his dress pants. He begins memorizing every inch of your glistening skin and the lust-filled expression on your face as you move so beautifully across the room.

“Like this, Mister Miller?” You ask innocently, wetting your lips and effectively ruining his life at the same time.

“Just like that, my sweet girl,” he praises, sitting back up and patting his thigh as he adds, “All the way, then rest your head right here.”

You finally reach him, settling yourself in a kneeling position again and laying your head on his lap, big eyes looking up at him sweetly. His short nails scrape along your scalp as his fingers card through your hair and butterflies fill his stomach as you melt into his touch. “You look so pretty like this. So sweet and submissive. I’m a bad man for the thoughts I have about you when you’re like this.”

You hum quietly, eyelashes hitting your cheeks as your eyes flutter closed. You’re fully at his mercy, trusting him to do what he thinks is best. It’s not a role he takes lightly, not like when he was younger. If this was fifteen years ago you still be handcuffed to that ceiling as he fucked you, but after breaking a lot of hearts he’s reformed his ways. No sex, that’s the rule, as badly as he’d love to sink into your tight, wet heat, you’re trusting him to keep you safe.

A sense of calm and comfort washes over him as he continues to massage at your scalp, and he smiles to himself as your body gets heavier between his spread thighs. There’s lots of things he likes about you, but the thing he loves the most is how he never knows what’s going to come out of your mouth next. And you prove that when your eyes flutter open and you confidently say, “I want to suck your cock.”

“Fuck, baby. Gonna give me a heart attack sayin’ shit like that outta the blue.”

Your perfect pink lips curl up into a shy smile, his hand moving from your hair so he can brush his knuckles lightly down your cheek. “S’ that what you want? To suck on my cock?”

Your head comes off his lap as you nod up at him. “Yes, Mister Miller. Please?”

“You know that you don’t have to do that. Right? I don’t do this for orgasms, it’s about so much more than that for me.” He asks softly, knuckles trailing your jaw.

“I know, it’s more than that for me too, but I want to.”

The two of you look at one another for a while, eyes dancing along each other's faces. His voice comes out thick and full of sand, “Take it out.”

He sits back, resting his hands on the bed behind him as your hands go to his belt, quickly undoing the buckle and then opening his pants. His thick cock springs free as you pull down his soft black boxers, the tip already leaking a bead of milky precome. As you eagerly press the flat of your tongue to the tip, he stifles a moan and watches as your eyes widen. He knows that look, it’s the same look every other man and woman has when they see it for the first time. Joel’s never been with someone of the same sex, but on the rare times he’s shared a sub with another man they have the same expression too.

“You have a piercing,” you say, curiosity thick in your voice, eyes glued to the nickel sized silver hoop that sits at the very bottom of his pelvis, the bottom of the hoop sitting just above the base of his cock.

“Yes,” he confirms, watching the questions about the unusual placement of it run behind your inquisitive eyes.

Your hand is wrapped around the base of his cock now, your pinky grazing the shiny metal, and his hands fist the sheets behind him to stop himself from grabbing you. “I didn’t know that was a place people pierced.”

He smirks. “Welcome to the wonderful world of kink, sweet girl.”

He got the piercing shortly after he began his journey to become a dom. In certain positions it can be very beneficial for his partner, and even though he’s vowed over and over again to himself that he’s not going to cross that line with you, he can’t help but imagine your perfect face as you find out exactly what it can do. A little piece of metal that would stimulate your clit as he fucks you.

Your soft pink tongue wets your lips before you begin to suckle on the sensitive rosy pink tip of his cock. His lips part with a quiet sigh. The entire tip of his cock slips into your mouth and his hands clench harder at the fluffy white sheets, desperately trying to let you explore him when all he wants to do is wrap your silky hair around his hands and hear what you sound like when you gag. His efforts double as you hum and then swirl your tongue around the leaking tip, big doe eyes looking up at him.

“Fuck, baby,” he almost whimpers. “Do that again.” You smile up at him sweetly and his heart starts to thunder behind his ribs. This isn’t a good idea. He should just focus on you, he gets off on that too, just in a much different way.

Submissives come to him for many different reasons but he’s a dominant for one reason only. From the minute Tiffany passed, Joel has been responsible for everything. From raising Sarah, to bailing out Tommy whenever he got in trouble. Not to mention his construction job, which eventually led to being a business owner. Everyone needed everything from Joel. He had to pivot plans or multitask, nothing ever went as planned; but when he’s Mister Miller it goes exactly how he wants it to. He can say no, he can make them beg or say please, he plans what happens and it goes just how it’s supposed to. For a man who is supposed to be “the boss”, he only feels in control when he’s playing the role of dominant.

And then came you. This beautiful little ray of light. From that first gasp and wide eyed stare in his office he had a feeling about you. And then everything that came out of your mouth took him by surprise. And right now, how good your mouth feels has him even more surprised.

You haven’t looked away as you’ve worked more of him down your throat, your hand moves in tandem with your mouth, and your tongue flicks against the ridge along the bottom of the tip each time.

“Feels s’good, sweet girl.” One of his hands moves on its own, tucking your hair behind your ear. “You can take more though. Come on. Be a good girl and take it all.”

A small humming giggle vibrates along his length as you work more of him into your mouth and he can’t fight it anymore. Both his hands come to your hair, pushing it back as he wraps the soft strands around his fingers and grips tightly, guiding you down and holding you as low as he can get you before you gag. “Good fuckin’ girl. Jus’ like that.”

You

Joel’s salty precum is like a drug. You want it. Need it. And know you’re going to crave it forever. He’s been mean tonight, something you haven’t really seen from him, but it was exactly what had to happen to get your head back on straight. You needed a harsh hand to snap you out of the dark looming cloud that’s been threatening to swallow you whole.

You’ve probably always suffered from depression or high-functioning anxiety, not that your parents would have noticed or said anything. And even if they had, they wouldn’t have gotten their braggable daughter diagnosed. God forbid you weren’t something for them to hold over their friends’ heads.

Joel’s hands tighten in your hair as he starts to take over. He let you taste him, let you get his cock nice and sloppy with your saliva. He looked down at you softly while you started, but now he’s back to full dominance. Full Mister Miller.

He pushes you down onto his cock, the tip just kissing against your gag reflex. Your scalp burns under his strong fingers and you can feel yourself submitting. Everything goes quiet: your limbs feel heavy yet ready to move or adjust as he commands, the sides of your vision darken, and the only thing that matters now is him. His wishes. His desires. His commands.

He pulls you off of him, and you gasp in air, a string of your spit landing on your chin, your eyes watering. “You snap if you need me to stop, got it?”

“Yes, sir, Mister Miller,” you say hoarsely. “Fuck my mouth, please.”

“Open,” he says growls.

You do as he says, opening your mouth wide while looking into his dark obsidian eyes. You can see his cheeks and tongue working behind his closed lips before he spits into your mouth.

“That’s my fucking girl,” he rasps and then roughly guides you back onto his cock. He doesn’t take his time or stop at that point of resistance this time. No, this time he pushes you further than you’ve ever been. The cool metal of the ring on his pelvis touches your nose. The juxtaposition of his hard cock meeting your soft mouth and his cold piercing meeting your warm face is staggering, yet comforting.

“Breathe through your nose,” he instructs.

You switch your focus, sucking air in through your nostrils slowly. “That’s it, sweet girl. Relax.”

You let your body sink again into his muscled lined thighs. He starts to move you up his cock. He gets about halfway before he forces you down again. You gag as he hits the back of your throat, shocking yourself when the gag ends in a moan and your pussy starts to weep for him. In fact, almost everywhere is weeping for him. Salvia drips from your lips and onto his lap, tears run down face.

You’re a mess.

‘His mess’, says that annoying little box in the corner of your mind which now has ‘Mister Miller’ written across it in loopy cursive handwriting, the dots of the i’s little bedazzled hearts.

Joel uses your hair to pull you up to the tip and you gasp in a few breaths before he starts moving you up and down his now obscenely wet and fully erect cock. Your jaw aches with how wide you need to open your mouth to fit him. Your fingertips just met around the tapered base earlier. You’ve never looked at man’s cock before and thought much, but Joel’s might be enough to ruin your life.

“Fuck, this mouth. Feels s’ fuckin’ good. Look at you, takin’ it so well. You like this, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you say, although it’s muffled around his cock. He pulls you off fully, releasing his grips from your hair. You sit back on your heels, his eyes raking over your body, pausing to watch your heaving chest; a mixture of needing to catch your breath and being insanely turned on. You don’t take your eyes off his face.

“Stay.” Joel’s voice is deep enough that you feel it reverberate through you. You lick your lips, swallowing down the taste of him that you’ve become addicted to and place your hands on your lap.

One of his hands comes up to his mouth and he spits into his own palm before bringing it down to fist his cock. Your eyes flick down to watch as he pumps himself slowly. “You have me doin’ shit that I didn’t plan, sweet girl. I give in to you, let you take the reins. But I’m in charge here.”

He pumps faster, and you fight to stay where you’re supposed to. “You need to remember that, so you don’t get to be the one to make me come today, you don’t get to feel it or taste it. No, you’re going to sit there, like a good little obedient submissive, and watch.”

You whimper, your right hand moving on its own to between your thighs.

“I didn’t say you could touch yourself. Keep your hands on your lap.” His voice is strained as the movement of his hand becomes less fluid. His free hand comes to his balls, massaging them lightly and you try to commit the sight of him like this to memory. Tall, wide, and commanding, yet falling apart as he looks at your naked and kneeling form in front of him.

“Mister Miller?” You ask, your voice small and cracking, the back of your throat raw from the way he fucked your mouth. “I’m so wet. Please, can I just touch for a little bit?”

His mouth falls open, pleasure etched across his features, his focus never leaving you. “Show me how wet you are. Spread your legs for me.”

You raise off your heels slightly and slide your knees apart, exposing your wet and swollen cunt to him. Then you lean back, hands resting on the floor behind you, tilting your hips up so he can see all of you.

“Good girl. So fuckin’ pretty,” he moans and then you watch as white ropes of cum spill over his hand. Your name passes his lips in a groan as he comes simply from the sight of your pussy. His hand stills and you lock eyes. You should feel shy like this, but instead you smile at him, a mischievous giggle bubbling up your chest as you bite down on your bottom lip.

His head nods towards the small dresser by the door, the one with the ceramic dish where his ring is on top. “Bring me a small towel from the top drawer and then get on the bed.”

You saunter to the dresser, trying your hardest not to look too eager, and then back towards him with a small fluffy white hand towel. He takes it from you and cleans himself up as you lay on the bed. He stuffs his softening cock into his boxers and then removes his pants and shirt. If you thought you were turned on before, it’s nothing to how you feel now seeing him almost naked in front of you.

That whole looking like you’re carved from stone gene is strong with the Millers, you think, watching the muscles behind his toned skin flex beneath his tanned skin as he climbs onto the bed. He grabs you by the ankle and pulls you to the end of the bed, a squeal leaving your lips. You had almost forgotten about the riding crop welts, but the friction against the sheets has them burning slightly and you wince as the heat settles.

“I’ll fix those sore spots, but first I need to taste you. Is that ok?”

You spread your legs wide for him, “Y-Yes. I need you, Mister Miller.”

“Tell me what you need,” he hums, settling himself between your legs.

“What you said,” shyness seems to have finally caught up to you, although you aren’t sure why.

He raises a thick dark eyebrow at you. “Ask for it, tell me how you like it.” He nods at you encouragingly as you take a few breaths. “Come on, my sweet girl. You can do it.”

My sweet girl, you melt. That fucking bedazzled box of feelings is fully in the spotlight now. He has years of experience in this role, but you can’t be imagining it. Looking at someone the way he’s looking at you now isn’t something that someone can fake. You can’t be the only one to feel whatever this invisible teether is between the two of you.

“I like fingers curled inside while the tip of your tongue flicks at my clit. I like suction too.” The pride in Joel’s face is almost overwhelming as he listens. God, he’s beautiful.

He hums slightly, readjusting himself between your spread thighs. “My pretty girl gets what she wants,” he whispers before using the tip of his tongue to gently work at the soft folds of your cunt, working his way from your tight entrance to your clit.

Your body jerks when he reaches your most sensitive part and you can’t stop the salacious moan that fills the room. “Oh god, Mister Miller.”

He runs his tongue in slow, teasing circles around your clit. Not with enough pressure to actually make you orgasm, just enough to taunt you, and your entire body breaks out in goosebumps and a thin sheen of sweat at the same time. He slides his right arm under your leg, hooking his elbow under your thigh and reaches his hand up and over towards your pussy. His thick pointer finger and thumb easily slip to each side of your puffy clit. Just as you’re about to float off into another dimension he pinches hard. You scream out in a delicious mix of pain and pleasure, your back arching off the mattress.

He holds your clit in his fingers, easing up the pinch to tease at it with his tongue again while he works the middle finger of his other hand inside of you.

“You’re so tight,” he hums between licks. “Gotta relax for me. Let me into this tight little cunt.”

You whimper at the push of his finger inside of you. One of his fingers is easily one and half of yours, and if he’s having a hard time getting just one of them in, you can’t imagine how it will feel to have two.

“Eyes on me, sweet girl,” he rasps, releasing your clit from his fingers. His strong hand presses lightly on your mound. “You’re safe here, baby. Open up for me.”

As always, you follow exactly what your dom says. Craning your neck slightly and opening your eyes to lock your gaze with his. The honey flecks in his dark brown irises warm your skin and as your body relaxes he smiles up at you. You feel Joel’s finger slide the rest of the way in with minimal resistance and it sends a wave of pleasure from your core to your toes.

“There’s my perfect sweet girl.” He groans as you let out a euphoric whimper. And then he’s back on you. Soft lips pressing to your wet heat, the flat of his large tongue circling your clit.

Your head falls back to the mattress, “Fuckfuckfuck. Oh god!”

Your orgasm is embarrassingly close. Joel is hitting almost all the spots you love. No man has gotten you to the edge this quickly. Just as that tingle at the base of your spine starts to spread he curls his finger forward and sucks your clit into your mouth.

“Mis…hnnng…fuck. I’m - I'm gonna.” You can barely think outside of the pleasure, nevermind form a sentence.

A second finger slips inside of you, “Give it to me, sweet girl. Show me what I do to you.”

Your orgasm hits you like an earthquake, making you shake harder than you ever have. The walls of your pussy clench hard on his strong fingers. His mouth is back on your clit, sucking it between his soft, warm lips. The lewd sounds of his sucking mix with your cries of pleasure. Joel is ruthless, never stopping as you absolutely crumble underneath his touch. Another strong wave of your orgasm rushes through you when he curls his fingers forward again, pressing right on your g-spot.

“Oh fuck, fuuuck Mister Miller.” You whine.

He slows the motion of his tongue as the convulsions of your body slow, working you through the aftershocks of your earth shattering orgasm.

“Good girl,” he whispers before placing a light kiss to your spent clit and slowly slips his fingers out of you. As your gazes lock he licks your arousal off his fingers and then rolls you onto your stomach. You hear him suck in a breath through his teeth when he sees the aftermath of his riding crop punishment earlier. “I’m sorry, sweet girl. Just stay on your stomach for me.”

His lips press to your shoulder blade as the mattress baubles under his weight leaving the bed. You glance over at him, watching his broad, tanned back as he grabs a few items. He spins to face you, coconut oil in one hand and an orange juice and a bottle of water in the other. He places the drinks on the bedside table then scoops a bit of coconut oil onto his fingers.

You wince as he makes contact with your right cheek, “Ouch, Mister Miller.”

“I know. This will help, and hopefully you learned your lesson about talking badly about what belongs to me.” His voice is sweet yet serious and he moves onto the other cheek, then the back of your thighs before his hand wraps around your right ankle, guiding you to bend your knee so he can look at the sole of your foot.

He places a light kiss on the light pink spot and you giggle, “Your beard tickles.”

He laughs and does the same thing to the other foot before lining his body up with yours and pulling you in to be his little spoon. “How are you feeling, sweet girl?”

“Mmmm,” you hum, sinking back into his warmth. “Much better. Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he holds you tighter, biceps flexing around your body like a ring of muscled safety. You're both quiet for a few minutes before he breaks it. “You kinda scared me tonight if I’m being honest.”

“Sorry,” you whisper, hiding your face in the arm he has under your head.

“No, don’t be. I’ve always been good at reading people, it’s probably more of a curse than a gift, but I just - I could feel that you weren’t in a good space when you got here.”

“Ya,” you agree.

“I know I can’t fix it, it’s not my place, but I hope I at least helped.”

You fixed it.

“You did help. I feel much better. Plus,” you turn to face him, both of you using one of your own arms to support your heads and your other arms wrapping around the other person. “Plus, you were right. I am smart. I can do this. I need to not be so hard on myself.”

Joel smiles sweetly, straight white teeth shining at you.

“If I can be spanked with a riding crop while handcuffed, fuck, I can be aaaanything.”

You and Joel laugh together and it all feels so natural. Maybe too natural. There’s something comfortable and familiar about him. It might be that southern hospitality, but in all the years you’ve been in Texas you’ve never felt this content with someone else.

“Mister Miller?” you say as the laughter subsides.

“You can call me Joel now,” his eyes widen just for a fraction of a second after it leaves his lips, almost as if he didn’t intend for it to come out before adding, “The scene is over.”

“Ah, so you’re saying this is a safe nickname zone now?” His smile makes your stomach flip.

“Careful, freckles.” He laughs, raising an eyebrow at you.

You give him a closed lipped smile, “Hey, if you’re gonna use it then so am I, sweet cheeks. Don’t think I didn’t notice the extra tight pants tonight.”

He shrugs a strong shoulder to his ear as you continue. “So, if you don’t sleep with your subs, why the piercing?”

He takes one big breath and licks his lips before he starts, his fingertips trailing up and down your arm. “I got it a long time ago, I wasn’t always as strict with my rules. I’m not proud of it, I broke a lot of hearts when I first started this whole thing. I haven’t taken it out because…well, I don’t really know. I guess because when I do finally reach that point with a partner I want them to experience the benefits.”

Always the giver, you think.

“Can you have a traditional partner while living this lifestyle?” You immediately begin to back track, realizing that you don’t want to seem like you’re getting attached. “Not you in particular. What you do outside of this room isn’t my business. I just mean like, are there doms that have subs that are married? Again, not you.”

He stares at you as you continue to ramble. “That whole thing came out wrong.”

“Relax, freckles, I knew what you meant. You’re kinda cute when you get all flustered and start to ramble though.”

The lid of the now pink painted box of feelings in your mind lifts a little. It seems to have gained an entire personality, and has the voice of Mrs. Potts from Beauty and The Beast as it says, ‘oh he definitely feels that tether too.’

“To answer your question,” his voice pulls you out of your own mind, “There are doms that do this professionally. I did have paying subs at one point myself and had a fairly serious girlfriend.”

Jealousy churns in your stomach. It’s irrational and you really hope it isn’t whoever Tess is.

“But,” he continues, “It’s a tricky situation and involves a lot of trust and communication. Probably more than a sub-dom dynamic. But, yes, I’ve seen lots of happily married people who live and explore the kink lifestyle.”

You shiver slightly and he pulls you in closer, tucking your head into his chest, inhaling that ash, leather and natural Joel musk. His hand runs up and down your naked back, the calluses on his fingers scratching slightly.

His body tenses, almost as if he’s nervous before he speaks. “Did you want to come to a Shibari class with me this week? We are hosting a demonstration at the club on Wednesday.”

You glance up at him, “I’d really like that, Joel.”

He tucks your head back into his chest. His lips press to the crown of your head at the same time that yours meet the soft skin of his sternum. “It’s a date.”

Part Two

747 notes · View notes

austinbutlerslovers · 5 months ago

Text

Just Between Us

Label Mature 18+

Summary Austin invites Callum Turner to stay at your place for the week, but as the days pass, you begin to suspect they have something planned that they aren’t telling you. Their teasing and lingering touches build tension until, on the final night, they reveal exactly what they’ve been planning all along —both of them want you at the same time.

🔗 Masterlist

❤️‍🔥Passionate Smut❤️‍🔥 Austin +You + Callum • threesome• both focused on your pleasure •praising •sweet talk • good girl•being kissed by both • being passed between both • being used at the same time by both •fingering •clit play •nipple play • size kink • “Eiffel Tower” •oral on male • cum eating •P in V• simultaneous orgasms• cream pie •after care from both

RIP🐱 💦 Especially @aust-een @soft-mama-reads @psycheetamore @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @abswifey @unicoo

Just Between Us

The morning starts slow, just the way you like it. Sunlight filters through the curtains, golden and warm, stretching across the sheets as you stir awake.

The faint scent of coffee drifts from the kitchen, and when you finally push yourself out of bed, you find Austin already there, barefoot, hair still messy from sleep, an espresso in his hand as he leans lazily against the counter.

“Morning, beautiful,” he smiles, his eyes flicking up from his phone as you step into the kitchen. His voice is still heavy with sleep, rough in a way that makes your stomach flip.

You hum in response, stretching before making your way over to him. He sets his espresso down just in time to pull you against his chest pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. “Sleep good?” he asks.

You nod against him, relishing the warmth of his body, the way his arms wrap securely around you. “Mmm, would’ve slept better if you stayed in bed longer,” you mumble, half teasing, half serious.

Austin grins, his lips brushing over your forehead. “I tried. But I figured I’d make breakfast instead.”

He gestures toward the counter, where he’s already set out eggs, toast, and fresh fruit.

Your smile up at him lovingly and he smirks. “Go sit,” he says, nudging you toward the stool by the counter. “I’ll make you an espresso.”

You obey, watching him move around the kitchen with practiced ease. The smell of coffee fills the space, mingling with the scent of fresh toast, and for a moment, everything feels perfect—easy, familiar, yours.

“Oh,” Austin says casually, pouring steamed milk into your espresso, the delicate swirl of foam rising to the top. “Callum’s staying for a week.”

Your fork pauses mid air, your eyes snapping to him in disbelief.

“Callum Turner?” you repeat, your voice rising slightly.

Austin smirks, setting the espresso in front of you. “Yeah. Callum Turner.”

Your brain runs wild. First of all, it’s Callum Turner: British, charming, and the embodiment of effortlessly cool. Second of all, it’s Callum Turner staying in your house for a week!

“How did this happen ?” you ask, setting your fork down.

Austin grins at your enthusiasm. “Few days ago. Said he wanted a place to stay that felt more comfortable than a hotel during his visit to the U.S.”

You blink at him in disbelief still processing the information. “What made you say yes?”

Austin leans back his smirk widening seeing how invested you are in Callum’s visit, studying you as if you should already know the answer.

“It’s Callum,” he says simply, grinning as if that explains everything.

The day Callum arrives, the house feels brighter somehow. Maybe it’s his energy, or maybe it’s the way his British accent fills the air, every word of his heavy with charm.

The moment his tall imposing figure steps through the front door his face lights up.

“Austin!” He beams, stepping into the living room “It’s been ages mate. When will you learn to use your cellphone?” Callum jokes his voice a mix of sarcasm and affection.

Austin rolls his eyes but grins. “You’re here aren’t you?” he fires back, though it’s clear from his hug how much he’s missed him.

Callum looks different from the last time you’ve seen him. He’s bulked up broad shoulders, thick arms, and a confidence that radiates effortlessly. His smile is dazzling, his blue eyes magnetic, and you can’t help but feel a little nervous in his presence.

“There she is!” Callum exclaims, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and lifting you clear off the ground. His body feels solid and warm, and for a moment, you’re utterly speechless.

“Austin’s favorite little thing—he never stops going on about you y’know,” he murmurs his accent making the words sound impossibly smooth. He bounces you lightly in his arms, a playful grin on his face, before setting you down gently.

Your cheeks burn as you smooth your skirt, trying to regain composure. “It’s nice to see you too, Callum,” you manage, your voice lighter than usual your face blushing pink.

Austin raises an eyebrow at Callum. “Man-handling her already” he chides, but there’s a warmth in his voice.

Callum grins, unbothered. “She likes it don’t you love?” He says slinging his Louis Vuitton duffle bag over his shoulder.

You quickly change subjects feeling their attention on you. “That’s a beautiful bag Callum,” you say, nodding toward it.

Callum glances back with a boyish grin. “Thanks. I’m the house ambassador now. Perks of the job,” he says casually, before disappearing down the hall with Austin leading him to the guest bedroom.

The days pass in a blur of activity. Austin and Callum fall into their old rhythm, talking about everything from filming Masters of the Air to Callum’s streak of successes. You try to stay out of their way, giving them space to catch up, but they won’t have it, insisting you join them at every opportunity.

You spend more time with them than you expect: grabbing coffee at Austin’s favorite cafe, late-night dinners downtown, and even watching movies together at night.

At the cafe, Callum insists on ordering a new drink for you, his smirk playful as he leans in. “You trust me, don’t you, love?” he grins, effortlessly.

Austin watches, amused, sipping his latte. “If she hates it, you’re drinking it.”

Callum just laughs, unfazed. “Oh, she won’t hate it. I know exactly what she needs.” he says smoothly, his smirk widening as he hands the order over.

Minutes later, the barista sets the drink in front of you a creamy espresso concoction topped with a hint of cinnamon. Callum watches you intently, his eyes glinting with anticipation as you lift the cup to your lips.

The first sip is rich, warm, the cinnamon teasing at the edges of your taste buds. You let it linger before swallowing, considering it.

“Mm it’s really good” you admit your eyes lighting up as you lick your lips.

Callum practically beams, his excitement unshakable. “See? I told you, Austin! I knew she’d like it. She’s such a good girl, isn’t she?”

His voice is smooth, teasing, the words rolling off his tongue like honey—almost as if he knows thats Austin’s secret name for you—the one that has you doing everything he says.

Austin chokes on his latte.

You whip your head toward him, watching as he hastily wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. His brows lift, his eyes flicking between you and Callum, his smirk unmistakable.

“Subtle, Callum,” Austin remarks under his breath, and that’s when you realize.

Callum knows you like to be called good girl—and Austin is the one who told him.

Callum grins, his gaze knowing and assessing as he looks at you. “She is a very good girl, aren’t you, love?” he teases, leaning back in his chair, enjoying the way your cheeks flush with heat at the words.

Austin’s eyes flick between the two of you, his smirk deepening as if he already knows what’s happening.

But he doesn’t say anything more—he just tilts his head slightly, as if he’s waiting to see just how far Callum will push it.

Later that week the three of you dress up and head to dinner downtown, stepping into a restaurant that radiates quiet luxury, the kind of place where celebrities frequent, the atmosphere opulent and effortlessly exclusive.

Austin walks beside you, his hand settling at the small of your back, his eyes unable to leave you. He’s been like this all evening, soft smiles, lingering glances, the kind of attention that makes you feel like you’re the only one in the room.

The host leads you through the restaurant, past sleek candle lit tables, until you reach a private corner table with plush chairs, and a perfect view of the city skyline beyond the floor to ceiling windows.

You take a soft inhale, your lips parting slightly in awe as you take it all in. “Wow, this is so beautiful,” you compliment, seeing the city lights shimmering like diamonds in the distance.

Austin, pulls your chair for you, his fingertips brushing your waist as he helps you settle in. “Not as beautiful as you,” he says, his voice soft and sincere as he takes the seat beside you.

“You’re absolutely stunning tonight.” Callum adds taking his seat across the table, and you smile softly looking between them, the warmth of their attention sending a flutter through your chest.

“You two are going to make my ego unbearable,” you tease, but there’s no denying how good it feels to be adored by both of them.

As the waiter pours the first round of drinks, you settle into the moment, letting the atmosphere wrap around you as you enjoy their company.

“These past few days have been unforgettable,” you say, looking at them both. “I’ve really loved having you here, Callum. It’s been so much fun.”

Callum lifts his drink, his grin boyish and effortless. “That’s what I’m here for, love—keep things interesting.” he teases, then he pauses, his gaze drifting over you, lingering in a way that feels both playful and intentional.

“But between the three of us,” he muses, tilting his glass slightly, “I think you’re the one making this week unforgettable.”

Austin smirks, his fingers tracing down his glass. “The truth,” he murmurs, his blue eyes flicking toward you full of mischief.

You shake your head, but the way both of them are watching you makes a warmth settle in your chest. You grin, and for a moment as you sit between them, you feel it again—that undeniable pull, the unspoken energy tangling between the three of you.

During dinner, the conversation flows effortlessly, the laughter rising between bites of perfectly plated dishes. The wine keeps coming, no ones glass is ever empty for long, and with every drink, the energy around the table becomes looser, warmer.

Austin leans back in his chair, his arm stretched casually behind you, his fingers lightly tracing over your shoulder as Callum sits across from you, already a flushed, his grin a little wider, his words a little smoother.

Callum watches you just long enough for you to notice before tilting his head smiling. “You really light up when you laugh.” He says, his voice low and easy, but there’s something beneath it—something intentional.

You feel it—the weight of their attention as if the air between you all has shifted into something deeper, unspoken. Your gaze flickers between them, Austin’s thumb grazing slow circles against your arm, Callum’s eyes never leaving yours.

Austin’s gaze lingers on you, his blue eyes darkening just slightly, something unreadable flickering behind them.

“She does, doesn’t she?” he muses, his voice smooth, teasing.

His fingers press just a little firmer against your skin as he slowly leans in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

It’s effortless, intoxicating, and just when you start to drift into it, Austin pulls back only slightly, his breath warm against your lips, his gaze locked onto yours.

Callum watches, his grin lazy, almost knowing as he knocks back the rest of the drink.

By the time you arrive home, you barely have time to say “Good night Callum” before Austin is taking your hand and leading you down the hall to the master bedroom.

He pushes the door open with purpose, pulling you inside before kicking it shut behind him leaving Callum standing in the hall.

Austin’s is firm and unyielding as his body presses flush against yours and his mouth claims yours with urgency.

You barely have time to catch your breath before his lips are devouring you, his hands already tugging at the straps of your dress.

With one swift motion, he pulls it down your shoulders, his fingers trailing hot against your skin, as it falls to the floor leaving you in only lace panties.

His eyes drink you in, dark and hungry, his breath shallow and heated as his fingertips trace over your hips before gripping them possessively.

“You’re so beautiful,” he pants his voice tense with need and before you can react, he’s guiding you back, your legs feeling the edge of the bed as his takes you down onto it.

He settles at your waist his hands spreading your thighs apart, his weight pinning you just enough to keep you exactly where he wants you.

His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, yanking them down in one swift motion, his breath hot against your skin.

The first flick of his tongue sends a jolt through you, pleasure striking fast, your back arching instantly.

“Austin!” you gasp, your fingers gripping the sheets as the heat coils deep inside you, sharp and undeniable.

He doesn’t ease you into it—he devours you with intensity driven on every intent to wreck you.

His tongue moves in deep torturous strokes, teasing, pressing harder, curling, sucking, his mouth sealing over you as if he can’t get enough.

His hands grip your thighs, holding you firmly in place as you try to move—but there’s nowhere to go, no escape from the relentless onslaught of his tongue diving into you.

Your head falls back as you moan loudly, your body desperate, trembling as the pleasure coils tighter, sharper. He groans against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and your cries spill freely, breathless and needy.

He feels it—how close you are, how you’re teetering on the brink,and he only pushes harder, flicking his tongue faster, sucking deeper, his fingers digging into your skin as he pushes you over the edge.

And when you finally break, when your body shatters against his mouth, you moan his name as he rides out each wave, lapping up every bit of your arousal, dragging your pleasure higher, deeper, until you’re nothing but a trembling, mess beneath him.

He doesn’t waste a second as you lay there, breathless, he’s already undoing his belt, his movements urgent, almost frantic.

He shoves his pants down, unbuttoning his shirt in a rush, the fabric falling to the floor as he climbs over you, his body pressing on yours instantly.

His lips find your neck in hot open-mouthed kisses, his breath ragged against your skin as he sucks harder, deeper creating a bruise. You can feel his cock, thick and hard, pulsing with need, and before you can catch your breath, he grips your hips and pushes in to you all at once.

The shock of fullness has you gasping, your back arching, fingers clutching at his shoulders.

“Austin!” you cry out, overwhelmed by the sudden depth feeling the sheer intensity of him inside you.

He lifts his head his blue eyes burning into yours, his jaw tight as he restrains himself.

“Say my name,” he commands,his voice rough with need.

“Austin” you moan for him, and he pushes forward in deep, deliberate strokes, his hips pressing flush against you, his body pinning you in place. He doesn’t give you a chance to adjust, doesn’t ease you into it—he just wants to feel you come for him.

His hands grip your thighs, pulling them apart wider as he drives deeper, his rhythm unrelenting. Moans spill from your lips over and over again, the pleasure building too sharp, too fast.

He tilts your hips, angling just right, his hips snapping, every thrust sending white-hot surges of pleasure ripping through you.

His hand slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing in tight, desperate circles.

“That’s it…baby…give it to me. Let me hear you …come.” He says his voice breathless with need.

Your voice is strained as you moan, barely holding yourself together. He watches every reaction, every spasm of your body, every shuddering breath—knowing completely what makes you fall apart.

And then it happens.

The tension inside you breaks the pleasure crashing over you in a surging waves, your body clenching tightly around his cock, your moans breaking into something raw, uncontrolled.

Austin groans, his head dropping to your shoulder as he fights through your release, enduring it, dragging it out, his thrusts harder, faster, his name still spilling from your lips, exactly how he wanted.

With a firm deep thrust, he comes, his abs pulling up, his moans breaking into breathless pants. His release pulses deep inside of you, his body rocking helplessly against you as he shudders through the overwhelming pleasure.

His breath is hot against your skin, his hips grinding slower, deeper, anchoring himself to you as his moans spill freely feeling the last waves of his climax overtake him.

When it’s finally over, when your body lays trembling beneath him, he doesn’t move instead, he strokes your face, his fingers tracing softly over your heated skin.

His thumb brushes your lower lip, his gaze searching yours, as his touch drifts lower, tracing over the curve of your jaw. “I love you” he says breathlessly.

You smile up at him stroking his jaw affectionately. “I love you too,” you pant, still catching your breath.

Austin exhales slowly, his fingers trailing through your hair, his eyes holding something deep, something unspoken. “There’s so much I want to give you,” he reveals, his voice low and thoughtful.

You blink up at him, sensing a shift, the weight of his words settling between you. “You already do,” you whisper, brushing your lips softly against his, completely unaware of the thoughts running through his mind as you kiss him.

The following night, you and Austin decide to make Callum’s favorite meal—shepherd’s pie and roasted vegetables. The kitchen fills with warmth, the rich aroma of roasted herbs and butter drifting through the air as the two of you work together, laughing and moving easily around each other.

When you finally set the dish in front of Callum, his face lights up, eyes gleaming under the soft glow of the dining room lights. “You’ve outdone yourselves,” he says, raising a glass to you both. “I might never leave.”

Austin grins, cutting into his meal. “You say that, but I know you’d miss London too much.”

“Maybe,” Callum muses, looking at you over the rim of his glass before taking a slow sip. “But I’m starting to see the appeal of staying in America.”

You glance at Austin, but he just smirks, his eyes flicking between the two of you before taking another bite.

“You know, Austin never stops talking about you when you’re apart,” Callum teases, his voice smooth, effortlessly confident.

“Really?” you grin, turning to Austin, who suddenly seems more interested in his plate as his cheeks tinge pink.

“Oh yeah,” Callum nods, his tone both playful and sincere. “Took me a while to realize he wasn’t exaggerating.”

A heat creeps up your face at his words, the air between you shifting, charged with something you can’t quite define—but Austin only grins as if this is all wildly amusing to him.

After dinner, the three of you settle into the living room, the soft glow of the film The Beach flickering across the screen, casting warm, golden shadows around the room.

You sit between them, nestled against Austin’s side, his arm draped around you absentminded tracing circles along your shoulder, as Callum sprawls out on your other, completely at ease watching the film.

Callum leans back, stretching an arm across the cushions behind you, his gaze flicking toward you with a smirk.

“Alright, be honest,” he muses his voice teasing, “Who do you think would take better care of you on a deserted island like that? Me or Austin?”

Austin exhales a quiet sigh, shaking his head, his voice smooth and knowing. “Callum, you’re setting yourself up.”

Callum grins wider. “No, I really want to hear the answer from her.”

You glance between them, your stomach flipping under the weight of their attention. “Austin,” you say, smiling, and he pulls you against him, pressing a kiss to your temple, his smirk deepening.

Callum laughs, undeterred. “Think about it though love. Who’s more resourceful? Hunting, gathering, building a shelter?…”

Austin grins in amusement, his blue eyes flickering with something more knowing. “Why would we compete to take care of her? He discerns, his tone suggestive. “When we could just work together?”

Callum chuckles in approval. “What, like a survival throuple?”

Austin grins. “Exactly, now you’re getting it.”

You roll your eyes shaking your head, but the way both of them begin to look at you sends a flutter through your stomach.

You’ve slowly begun to catch on that they’re planning something—you can feel it. The way Austin lets Callum push boundaries, the way Callum charms you at every chance… and the way Austin allows it all to happen.

On the final day of the visit you stand in front of the living room mirror, checking your out fit one last time, ready to head out for the night.

Callum, sits sprawled out on the couch, watching you with an easy grin, his eyes lingering , slow and easy, taking in every detail.

“You’re far too pretty to put up with Austin’s moods,” Callum teases as Austin groans, unable to find his favorite leather jacket.

You smile, brushing it off, but Callum’s confidence is unshakable.

“You know,” he leans forward, his voice dropping just enough to be enticing “If he gets into a really bad mood tonight, we can sneak off together, teach him a lesson for behaving that’ll make him never forget his manners.”

You shake your head grinning “You think you're the one to teach Austin a lesson on misbehaving ?” You counter.

Callum grins, slow and teasing. “Mmm I’d be so good at it.” He confirms.

You roll your eyes just as Austin finally finds his jacket, holding it up with a triumphant sigh.

“You two over there conspiring against me now?” he says, shrugging it on as he looks between you both.

“Maybe,” Callum muses, standing up and pulling the hem of his shirt.

Austin ignores him, adjusting the collar of his jacket with an exaggerated sigh. “Great. Now let’s get this over with.”

“The infamous Luis Vuitton Cruise show ” Callum muses, his grin widening.

Austin groans dramatically, already dreading it. “A high-end fashion event with nothing but paparazzi, practiced conversation, and people getting really into bizarre shit.” He exhales sharply.

Callum grins, completely at ease. “Oh, Austin I love that shit.” He confirms.

Austin shoots him a look breaking into a grin. “Of course you do.”

You smile enjoying their banter, and before you know it, Callum’s arm drapes around your shoulder smug and easy. “All I’m saying is, if Austin gets too grumpy during this, we can still sneak off together, yeah?” he says, his smile infectious.

You glance at Austin, waiting for his reaction but he just smirks, shaking his head as he grabs his phone. “You two are trouble.” He says, his voice amused.

The three of you step out of the car onto the stone entryway of the Salk Institute in La Jolla, the air crisp with ocean breeze, the sky streaked with hues of deep blue and gold as the sun begins to set.

The Louis Vuitton Cruise Show looms ahead, sleek and sophisticated, with floodlights illuminating the brutalist architecture, casting long, dramatic shadows over the crowd of fashion elites.

The atmosphere is filled with exclusivity, flashes from photographers, murmurs of stylists, and the ever-present hum of curated perfection.

Austin walks on your right, his fingers casually grazing your lower back as Callum stays on your left, looking effortlessly charming in his suit and tee, already scanning the scene with a knowing smirk.

You feel stunning, the pleated mini skirt Austin bought for you weeks ago moves with every step you take. Paired with your heels and a sleek top, you know you’ll turns heads the moment you step onto the scene especially with two handsome gentlemen escorting you.

And if you weren’t sure of it—Austin and Callum make it painfully obvious.

Callum’s eyes wander over your legs as he shakes his head. “You sure you want to take her in there, Austin?” he muses. “You’ll have to fight off half the room.”

Austin doesn’t even try to hide his smirk, but his gaze flicks down to your skirt again. He hasn’t stopped looking at it since you got in the car. And the way his eyes darken slightly tells you everything you need to know.

“She can do whatever she likes,” Austin muses, smoothly taking your hand in his. “Not my fault if people get distracted.”

Callum scoffs, tilting his head. “Austin you’re distracted.”

Austin huffs a short laugh, but doesn’t deny it.

As you approach the red carpet, your stomach flutters with anxiety, your pulse hammering in your ears.

The flashes of cameras are blinding, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and chatter, as celebrities and fashion elites move through the entryway.

Austin’s fingers tighten briefly in your hand, a silent reassurance, while Callum is at your side, adjusting the cuffs of his suit, looking completely at ease.

The photographers begin to call out, their voices overlapping—

“Austin! Over here!” “Look this way!” “Callum, give us a smile!”

You and Austin take the first set of photos together, his hand warm against your waist, his charisma in full effect.

He’s done this a thousand times before, his look effortless, and when he glances at you between flashes, there’s something else in his expression that shows his adoration for you.

Next, Callum steps up for his solo shots, his grin turning cheeky as he shifts between serious and playful poses. The energy around him shifts, he’s charming without trying, flashing a wink here, adjusting his stance there.

Finally, the three of you are called together, and Callum immediately changes the tone, stepping between you and Austin with an exaggerated flourish, wrapping an arm around both of you.

“C’mon, let’s give them a show,” he teases, leaning in slightly.

Austin shakes his head, clearly entertained. “You’re a menace.”

Callum smirks. “And yet, you invite me places.”

With one last series of flashes, the photographers thank you, and you step off the red carpet, the moment settling in.

Inside, the ambiance is even more exclusive. The Salk Institute’s brutalist architecture contrasts sharply with the elegance of the show. Spotlights cast dramatic beams over the sleek runway, the seats lined with luxury invitations perfectly arranged.

The three of you take your seats front row, surrounded by other celebrities, designers, and fashion insiders.

As the show starts, the Louis Vuitton Collection is displayed with sharp, avant garde silhouettes, intricate embroidery, and flowing structured fabrics.

Models strut confidently along the minimalist runway, the music pulsating through the space.

Champagne flutes appear before you, served on silver trays, and you quickly realize, you won’t have an empty glass the entire night.

Austin sits beside you, his arms resting across his chest, his legs crossed. He occasionally leans in, speaking softly against your ear, small remarks about the designs, the lighting, the people around you.

Callum is thoroughly enjoying himself. He sips his champagne slowly, watching the show with genuine appreciation, occasionally gesturing toward a look he likes. At one point, he nudges you, whispering, “That one, I could easily see you in that one.”

You roll your eyes but smile feeling a warmth spreading through your chest.

Between the rich ambiance, endless flow of champagne, and the presence of both men beside you, you can’t help but feel it—tonight is the beginning of something.

And by the way Austin keeps glancing toward you, and Callum’s smirk lingers just a second too long, you know they feel it too.

After the show when you arrive back home, the three of you step into the house, the cool air inside a stark contrast to the lingering warmth of the night.

The Louis Vuitton show had been an experience, intoxicating in more ways than one.

The endless champagne, the flashing cameras, the whispered conversations with designers and celebrities. And now, as you sway slightly in the dimly lit entryway, you realize just how much champagne you had.

A quiet giggle escapes your lips as you reach out, steadying yourself by placing a hand on Austin and Callum’s shoulders.

Austin smirks, catching the movement instantly. “Someone’s had a little too much fun tonight,” he says, his hands instinctively coming to your waist, steadying you.

Callum chuckles, his tone more matter of fact.“Or just too much champagne,” he teases, his eyes flicking over to Austin.

You exhale a slow breath, your fingers tightening slightly on their shoulders for balance as Austin kneels down first, his hands trailing over your calf before he begins unbuckling one of your heels. His touch slow and careful.

Callum follows suit, kneeling on the other side, his fingers easily working on the strap of your other heel. His thumb grazing along the inside of your ankle.

“You guys are —so nice,” you mumble, your voice slightly drunk as you look down at them.

Austin huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he slips the heel from your foot setting it aside. “Yeah? Keep sweet-talking us, baby.”

Callum smirks up at you, his fingers lingering against your skin a second too long, tilting his head slightly as he slides the second heel off.

Your cheeks burn under their attention, and you suddenly feel very aware of how intimate this is. The two of them kneeled before you, their hands on your legs, the air between you thick with something else.

Austin rises first, standing close, his hands smoothing up your sides, his blue eyes locked onto yours. “You okay, baby?” he asks, his voice low, intimate, a quiet promise lingering in the way he looks at you.

Callum follows, standing beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

They exchange a look—something silent, something intentional.

Your breath catches as you glance between them, the air in the entryway suddenly heavy, pressing in from all sides. The space feels smaller, the air charged under the weight of their attention.

“I’m okay,” you manage, though your voice is softer now, breathier.

Austin tilts his head, studying you, his gaze dropping to your lips then slowly he leans in and kisses you, his lips warm and soft, tasting faintly of champagne.

The moment Austin’s hand slides down your back, you feel Callum’s touch.

His fingers ghost along your waist, his breath warm at your neck before he presses his lips on you too, the contrast of them sending a surge of pleasure through you so impossibly good it feels sinful.

A quiet gasp escapes your lips, your body pressed between them as they move in unison—Austin claiming your lips, Callum kissing down your neck.

Austin’s hand roams lower, slipping past the waistband of your skirt, the heat of his palm pressing firmly between your legs.

He takes his time, his fingers moving with slow, deliberate pressure, teasing your clit through the fabric. He watches you closely, his lips hovering over yours, waiting for your reaction.

Your breath hitches, your body softening at the sensation, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

His hand slips into your panties, his fingers sliding over your slickness finding you completely soaked, your wetness coating his fingertips as he groans softly against your lips

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze darkened as he easily pushes two fingers inside of you, watching every catch of your breath, every shiver that rolls through your body.

Your lips part in a soft moan feeling the press of his knuckles as his fingers settle deep inside, the pleasure immediate, undeniable.

The sound catches Callum’s attention, and he pulls back just enough to see your reaction.

Austin’s fingers move in slow, precise thrusts within you, his lips brushing against yours as he kisses you again.

Callum’s hands moves to your top pulling down the hem, his hand gliding over your chest before moving lower and cupping your breast firmly.

His mouth is hot against your skin as he lowers his head, his tongue flicking your nipple, drawing sharp gasps from you.

You barely have time to react before he draws your nipple into his mouth his tongue circling it with firm strokes.

Your breath stutters, your knees nearly buckling as Austin works you open from below while Callum takes his time above, both of them completely in sync, completely focused on you.

Your fingers grip onto Austin’s shoulders, then Callum’s hair, needing to hold onto something as pleasure swells inside you, making you weak.

You try to stay upright, but with every touch, every kiss, every press of their hands and mouths—standing becomes impossible.

Your knees tremble, thighs clenching around Austin’s hand as his fingers thrust deeper, slick with evidence of just how easily you’re surrendering to them.

Callum hums against your chest, his lips sucking your nipple firmer as his tongue rolls in slow, deliberate strokes. He groans as he sucks, pulling with greedy satisfaction, his teeth grazing just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure down your spine.

The sensation coils tightly inside you, winding you up, making your breath hitch in soft, helpless little gasps.

Austin watches you intently, his blue eyes dark, focused, enthralled by every shudder, every whimper slipping from your lips.

His free hand rests heavy on your hip, keeping you exactly where he wants as he begins to curl his fingers inside you, hitting that perfect place over and over until your body convulses around him. “That’s it baby—give it to us.” He encourages thrusting faster.

Your moan is barely a sound, more of a breathless, strangled cry as the pleasure crashes over you. Your thighs squeeze around Austin’s wrist, your body locking up as your orgasm tears through you. Callum pulls back just enough to watch, his lips parting as he sees how helpless you are.

“Just, look at her,” Callum breathes, his fingers sliding up your side as he takes in the way you tremble, your body consumed with pleasure. “She looks so fucking pretty when she comes.”

Austin slows the movement of his hand, dragging out every last moment before withdrawing his fingers now glistening.

He lifts them to your lips, watching as you part instinctively, tasting yourself on them.

“Good girl,” Austin praises, his voice smooth as he brushes his thumb against your lower lip, his eyes dark with intent.

Then he glances over at Callum, something unspoken passing between them before his gaze returns to you, heavy and full of meaning.

“Come to bed,” he says to both of you, his voice low and certain.

Your eyes widen, flicking to Callum, whose smirk deepens with knowing amusement as Austin offers you his hand.

Callum watches, waiting for you to decide—waiting for you to step into whatever comes next.

And as your fingers slide into Austin’s palm, Callum’s hand grazes the small of your back, the three of you heading to the bedroom together as you realize—

They’ve planned this all along.

Austin guides you and in and Callum closes the door behind you knowing this is exactly what they have been waiting for.

The bed dips on either side as the three of you lay down together.

The warmth of them surrounds you as Austin places a soft kiss on your left wrist and Callum presses against your right side trailing his lips along the sensitive skin of your shoulder.

The room is dim, but the heat between the three of you is undeniable. Austin’s hand trails along your arm, his touch slow and delicate, as Callum,breathes against you, his lips grazing your jawline.

“Relax for us baby,” Austin says, his voice low and steady.

Callum’s voice follows, softer, teasing. “We’ve been waiting all week for this,” he admits, his fingers tracing the back of your hand. “Tell us you want this too.”

Your heart races, your body humming with anticipation as you glance between them. Austin’s eyes are filled with something intuitive, something reassuring, but Callum’s are far darker, searching, waiting.

Austin tilts your chin up, his thumb brushing along your bottom lip. “We’ll only do this if you want to,” he admits, his gaze flicking toward Callum briefly.

Your breath is shallow, lips parting instinctively as your gaze shifts between them. “I—” Your voice catches, the reality of the moment crashing over you. “I want this”

Austin grins kissing you immediately, his lips pressing against yours with a reassurance that melts away any hesitation.

Then you feel Callum, impossibly close his breath ghosts over your cheek before Austin pulls back just enough to let Callum’s lips linger near yours.

Callum hesitates, watching you, as if waiting for permission. Austin smirks slightly, his voice playful but firm. “She’s already thinking about it.” He says.

Callum doesn’t need to be told twice, his lips collide with yours, different from Austin, hungrier, firmer, coaxing. The contrast between them sends a shiver down your spine, and when Austin’s lips move to your neck, your mind blanks completely.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” Callum murmurs against your lips, his accent thick and rough. His hand settles on your waist, fingers curling slightly. “Knew you’d be trouble.”

Austin chuckles against your skin. “She’s the best kind of trouble.” He says as his lips press just below your ear. “And now she’s ours.”

Callum’s hand slides over your waist, fingers teasing the hem of your shirt. “I want to see all of you.” He says.

Austin’s fingers brush your cheek before trailing down your collarbone, his voice a low murmur against your skin. “Let’s get you out of this, baby.” He says hooking his fingers under the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in one smooth motion, the fabric slipping away effortlessly, leaving your skin bare to them.

Austins hands drift lower, tracing the curve of your waist before finding the hem of your pleated mini skirt. His fingers hook beneath the fabric, and with one fluid motion, he tugs down your panties and skirt together, the soft material gliding over your hip and down your thighs until it’s tossed aside.

Austin gaze darken as he takes you in and Callum leans back slightly, his eyes drinking in the sight of you filled with lust.

“Fuck,” Callum exhales, running a hand down your thigh, his pupils blown wide. “Austin, shes perfect.”

Austin smirks, his hands sliding down your sides. “I know” he says.

Callum’s hands join Austin’s, his touch unfamiliar but electrifying as he traces along your ribcage. You shiver under their attention, the feeling of four hands exploring your skin leaving you breathless.

Your hands reach for them instinctively, finding the hem of Callum’s shirt first. You slide it up, and he grins, before tugging it over his head.

The moment his chest is exposed, your breath catches—he’s even more defined than you expected, strong and solid, his skin warm under your fingertips. You run your hands over his broad shoulders, his muscles flexing beneath your touch.

Austin, pulls his own shirt over his head and tosses it aside. Your eyes flick between them, your hands touching both of them instinctively trailing over the contrast—Austin’s familiar, muscular form and Callum’s broader, slightly rougher build. Your fingers explore the dips and lines of their chests, the heat of them making your head spin.

“Do you like this?” Austin teases, his lips brushing your ear as his hands slide down your arm.

Callum smirks, watching your stunned reaction. “I think she does.” His voice dips lower as his fingers tilt your chin up.“But I want to hear you say it.”

Your lips part, your body already trembling under their attention. “I love it,” you whisper, your fingers pressing into their skin. “I love everything about this.”

Austin’s mouth lowers onto yours as Callum’s lips find the soft spot just below your jaw, and as their hands move over you, exploring, claiming, you realize just how much they’ve been waiting for this, and just how much you want it, too.

Callum moves closer, his breath hot against the nape of your neck. His large hands start at your waist, his thumbs pressing into the dips of your hips before slowly gliding upward, exploring the curves of your ribs and the soft swell of your breasts.

His palms are rougher than Austin’s, his touch more possessive, his fingers kneading teasingly. “You’re so soft,” he whispers, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

You gasp against Austin’s lips as Callum’s fingers roll over your nipples, pinching lightly, just enough to send a jolt of pleasure shooting through you.

Austin smirks against your mouth, feeling the way you react. “You like this so much don’t you?” he teases, and you nod as his hand slides up, cupping your other breast firmly. The hardness of his cock pressing against your thigh telling you just how much he’s enjoying this too.

Callum’s hand moves lower, tracing over your hip, his fingertips skimming the space between your thighs. You whimper as he parts your legs slightly, his fingertips grazing against your heat.

“Fuck, she’s already so wet,” he groans, his voice laced with both awe and satisfaction.

He strokes slowly, gathering your arousal on his fingers then spreading it over your swollen clit in teasing circles.

Austin pulls back slightly, tilting your chin so you meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, filled with lust as he watches you tremble between them. “You feel good baby?” he asks softly, his thumbs stroking your chin.

Your breath is shallow, your body humming with pleasure as Callum continues to tease you. “Yes,” you gasp “I’m so good.”

Austin grins, his lips brushing over yours before he moves lower, trailing kisses down your neck, over your collarbone, his tongue flicking out to taste your nipple.

Callum, presses his hard cock against your hip, his lips warm and teasing as he leans in to kiss you passionately. His fingers between your legs move with more purpose, pressing into you just enough to make you whimper.

“Listen to her,” Callum groans, his lips curling into a smirk against yours. “She sounds so fucking pretty when she moans.”

Austin grins, his tongue swirling around your nipple lightly. “That’s because she’s perfect,” he says, his voice vibrating against your skin.

Callum groans in agreement, his hand tightening on your waist as his fingers stroke deeper, each touch making you tremble more.

“She’s ours tonight.” Callum says as his fingers move with agonizing precision, his strokes slow and deliberate as he spreads your slickness over your sensitive clit before sliding down, teasing your entrance.

His breath is hot against your ear as he whispers, “You’re so fucking wet you’re dripping for us.” His tone is dark, edged with satisfaction as he pushes two fingers inside you, curling them just right, pressing against a spot that makes your whole body spasm.

Austin hums against your skin at your reaction, his mouth wrapped around your nipple, sucking lightly before flicking his tongue over the hardened peak.

His free hand cups your other breast, kneading gently, his thumb rolling over your nipple before pinching it lightly. His movements are slow, sensual, designed to draw every reaction out of you as he teases and torments, alternating between soft licks and firmer sucks.

Callum’s fingers work you open, his pace maddeningly steady, stroking deep, curling inside you with every thrust. His lips trace the line of your jaw as his fingers press against the perfect spot that has you falling apart as your hips writhe in pleasure . “I can feel you clenching around me. You’re so close, aren’t you?”

You nod panting as your hips roll instinctively against his hand. As you begin to moan loudly Austin pulls away just enough to watch your face, his lips glistening as he grins in satisfaction. “She’s going to come.” He confirms.

Callum chuckles against your skin, as his fingers thrust deeper, his thumb pressing circles over your clit. “Come on, love,” he coaxes, his voice husky, his breath fanning against your cheek. “Let go for us. Let us see you come.”

Austin’s mouth closes around your nipple again sucking harder as his teeth nip lightly on the sensitive peak sending another surge of pleasure straight to your core.

The combined sensations are too much—Callum’s relentless fingers working inside you, Austin’s warm, wet mouth sucking your nipple, the deep, commanding sounds of their voices unraveling every last thread of your restraint.

Your body tenses, the pleasure cresting like a wave as a choked gasp escapes your lips.

Your thighs tremble as you orgasm your body shuddering from the intensity. “That’s it love,” Callum groans, his fingers not letting up, working you through every last tremor. “So fucking beautiful.”

Austin watches you with dark, hungry eyes, his mouth leaving your nipple to press hot kisses up your throat. “So perfect, baby,” he murmurs, soothing you as your body trembles between them.

Callum slows his movements, his fingers slipping out of you with a satisfied hum. He brings them to his lips, his eyes locked on yours as he licks them clean. “You taste incredible,” he praises, his expression full of sinful delight.

Austin smirks, kissing your lips softly, his voice full of pride. “And we’re just getting started.”

Austin presses one last lingering kiss against your lips before guiding you up gently, his hands on your waist as he shifts you to kneel in the middle of the bed between them.

Your body is still trembling from the pleasure they’ve already given you, your mind hazy, dizzy with arousal as Austin’s voice, low and firm, pulls you back into focus.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, his fingers stroking lazy circles over your hips as he positions you between them. “You’re going to make both of us feel as good as we just made you feel.”

You’re delirious with pleasure, as they leave the bed to undress your body humming with heat as you watch them, unable to form words.

They’re movement are hypnotic as they pull off their pants and boxers.

Austin body is sculpted, carved from years of dedication, his smooth skin taut over his defined muscles. His cock stands thick and firm, flushed a deep, eager pink, the tip already glistening with precum. Hes impossibly hard, the veins along his shaft prominent and pulsing with need.

Callum, in contrast, is built broader, his chest and shoulders more solid, his thighs thick and powerful. His cock is darker, a shade richer against his paler skin, with a heavy weight to it, the curve of it distinct as he strokes himself, his grip tight.

They stand before you, both, naked both hard, both utterly focused on you. The air is charged with heat and anticipation, the weight of the moment settling in your chest as your thighs press together instinctively and Austin smirks catching the movement.

“You like what you see, baby?” He says as he kneels beside you on the bed, his fingers grazing along your jaw, tilting your chin up so you meet his eyes.

Callum chuckles lowly, his voice teasing as he settles on the other side of you, his body radiating heat.

“She definitely does,” he muses, his smirk widening. “You can see it all over her face.”

Austin runs his hand down the curve of your back, his touch soothing. “You look so fucking perfect like this,” he praises and as Callum touches you too they both trail their hands lower taking turns to glide their fingers through your wetness, spreading your arousal with slow, teasing strokes.

A soft whimper escapes your lips, but it’s quickly swallowed by Callum as he tilts your chin up and kisses you hard, his lips demanding, his tongue slipping past your teeth with a hunger that makes your knees weak.

Callum brings his fingers slick with your arousal back around his cock, stroking himself firmly as he groans into your mouth.

Austin, hums at the sight, his fingers still sliding through your slickness, rubbing slow, teasing circles against your clit before slipping two fingers inside you again. “Fuck, baby,” he breathes, his voice thick with lust. “You’re dripping down your thighs.”

Callum breaks the kiss just enough to smirk, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “She’s ready for us,” he grins, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with heat and anticipation. “Aren’t you,love?”

You nod, breathless, barely able to think past the heat racing through your core.

Callum strokes his heavy cock harder his eyes watching you with a dark, knowing smirk. “You ready for me, love?” he asks, his accent making the words sound even filthier.

You nod and he grips the base of his cock, holding it steady as Austin slips his fingers from you to hold your waist. “Show us, baby,” he urges, his voice full of command and affection. “Make Callum feel just as good as you feel.”

Austin lowers you onto your hands and knees, your body still trembling from their touch, the heat between you all heavy with anticipation.

Callum smirks, his grip tightening around the base of his cock as he pulls your face closer. “That’s a good girl,” he murmurs guiding his cock closer to your lips.

Austin moves behind you, his hands sliding down your back, guiding you into position as he kneels behind you on the bed.

“That’s it, baby,” Austin murmurs, his voice laced with praise as he runs his hands over the curve of your hips, gripping them firmly. “You’re gonna take us both so well.”

Callum’s fingers tilt your chin up, his smirk deepening as he watches the way you kneel waiting for them. “Open up for me, love,” he says, with intent. “Let me feel that pretty mouth of yours.”

You obey, your lips parting and slowly he pushes the head of his cock in, warm and wet as your lips wrap around it.

Your tongue swirls around the tip before your cheeks hallow and you take him deeper. Callum lets out a satisfied groan, his hand tangling in your hair as he guides you, his grip firm.

“Fuck, that’s perfect,” he breathes, his hips barely rolling forward as he watches you. “You’re so fucking good at this.”

Behind you, Austin squeezes your hip as he rubs his tip along your slick entrance, teasing you, making you whimper around Callum’s cock the vibrations sending a shudder through him.

“She likes it,” Austin reveals, rubbing his cock against you again, coating himself in your arousal. “You’re so fucking ready for us aren’t you, baby.”

You moan softly, pushing back against him, desperate for more, and that’s all the encouragement he needs. Austin presses forward, his thick cock stretching you slowly, filling you inch by inch until he’s buried deep inside you.

A moan escapes you, overwhelmed by the sensation of being taken by both of them.

“That’s my girl” Austin groans, his grip tightening on your hips as he begins to move, thrusting slow and deep, his cock hitting all the right places with every roll of his hips.

Callum watches the way your eyes flutter, the way you moan around his cock as you work him with slow, eager sucks. “Such a good girl,” he praises, his voice filled with pleasure. “Taking both of us like a dream.”

The rhythm between the two of them builds, the room filled with the sound of their heavy breaths, low groans, and the wet, lewd sounds of them fucking you at both ends.

Austin’s thrusts grow deeper, more intense, his grip on your hips tightening as he drives into you.

Callum’s hand remains tangled in your hair, his hips rolling as he matches the pace of Austin, his pleasure evident in every deep, guttural moan he lets out.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Austin praises, his hands sliding up your back, his fingers digging into your skin as he thrusts into you harder. “So tight—so fucking wet for us.”

Callum groans, his voice low and strained. “She loves this,” he breathes, his grip on your hair tightening as his hips jerk forward. “She’s so desperate for our come, aren’t you, love?”

You whimper around him, completely lost in the overwhelming pleasure, your body shared between them as wave after wave of ecstasy roll through you.

Every movement, every thrust, every deep groan sends you spiraling further into bliss, your mind hazy, consumed by nothing but the way they both feel inside you, the way they own every inch of you.

Austin pace becomes unrelenting, his cock hitting the deepest, most perfect spot inside you with every thrust as you moan around Callum in bliss.

“Come for us baby,” Austin groans as his hand finds your swollen throbbing clit. “Make us all come.”

His fingers press in slow, relentless circles, amplifying the pleasure coursing through your body. The sensation is overwhelming, your walls tightening on Austin’s cock as your moans vibrate on Callum’s.

Both of their hips stutter forward, Callum’s grip tightening in your hair as he groans dangerously close to spilling over.

Your pleasure peaks as your body clenches tight, every muscle tensing as your orgasm crashes over you, forcing a strangled moan in your mouth around Callum’s cock.

The sensation is too much, too perfect, and Austin groans deeply, his thrusts faltering as he feels your wall tighten around him.

Your nails dig into the sheets being thrust hard between both of them as they use you to come, your mind blanking with nothing more than the overwhelming sensation.

“Fuck, baby,” Austin groans, his hands digging into your hips as he drives into you hard spilling inside you with a guttural moan.

Callum watches you, feeling the way you moan in pleasure as Austin comes inside you and that’s all it takes to send him over the edge.

His grip on your hair tightens, his body tensing as he lets out a deep, strained groan, his release thick and hot as he holds you in place and spills into your mouth feeling you swallow around his cock taking every last drop.

They both pull out of you at the same time, the room filled with nothing but heavy breathing, the three of you completely consumed by each other.

Austin lifts you back against him, his strong arms wrapping around you as his lips trail lingering, soft kisses along your neck.

His hands move lower to grip your hips, grounding you as his thumbs gently caresses slow, soothing circles over your skin, easing the trembling aftershocks still coursing through your body.

Callum leans in his breath still uneven as he brushes his lips over your jaw. “Took everything we gave you like you were made for us.” he whispers, his fingers sliding through your hair as he places a soft kiss.

“You were so fucking perfect, baby,” Austin whispers, his voice low and full of praise.

Callum smirks as he lays back against the pillows, his chest still heaving. Your body trembles, completely spent, your breath still coming in short, uneven gasps as Austin lowers you on the bed.

Every muscle in your body is weak, pleasure still pulsing through you in slow, rolling waves. Austin pulls you into his arms, his strong embrace wrapping around you.

His lips find your ear first, warm and soft, whispering against your skin. “You were incredible,” he praises full of affection. “So fucking perfect for us.” He says kissing you just below your jaw, then lower, trailing soft kisses down the curve of your neck, his breath warm as he soothes you with gentle touches.

Callum shifts against your other side, his body just as warm and solid behind you. His lips brush along your shoulder, slow and lazy, savoring every inch of you.

“You’re something else, love,” he murmurs, his voice rich with admiration. “Didn’t know you had that in you… but fuck, I’m glad I found out.” He grins, his lips moving in soft, teasing kisses along your shoulder as his fingers trace over your back.

Austin chuckles softly, tucking your hair behind your ear as he kisses your temple. “Tired?” he asks knowingly, his hand rubbing slow circles on your hip.

You nod weakly, barely able to keep your eyes open as exhaustion washes over you. “Mm-hmm,” you hum, melting into his embrace.

Callum smirks against your shoulder, his hand smoothing over your back. “Poor thing,” he teases, his voice laced with amusement. “We might’ve been a little too rough on her.”

Austin grins, pressing another kiss to your cheek. “No, she took us so well.” He says bringing the blanket over you and pulling you closer against him. “Just rest baby. We’ve got you.”

Callum sighs contentedly, his arm draping lazily over your waist as he nestles against your neck. “Yeah, sleep now love, because next round—I’m not holding back.” He grins.

“Guess we’ll have to keep her just between us.” Austin confirms and Callum hums in agreement.

You let out a soft, sleepy sigh, too exhausted to even respond, your body completely relaxed between them as you drift into the deepest, most satisfied sleep of your life.

END 💙💖💙

🔗 MasterList

🏷️ Always Tag Me

@purejasmine @burnthheparaphilia @butdaddyilovehim99 @austinbutlerfly @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @lindszeppelin @abswifey @aust-een @umika @feralgodmothers @psycheetamore @soft-mama-reads @megangovier @magicovento @obsessedvibee @austiebuttbutt @faegoddessog @dunevitani @unicoo @gyratingpresley @thejoywillburnoutthepain @jessica987 @slowsweetlove @hardcoredisneynerd @finley-08 @thegabbyh @thefallofthedamned @buckysteveloki-me @bucking-mustangs-with-wings @shegatsby @darlingisntit @lovereadingfanfic @denised916 @shockercoco @minispice-1 @i5uckersblog @ughdontbeboring @meetmeatyourworst @avidreader/3 @xxmandaveexx @mamawiggers1980 @stars-remain2 @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @missjadesticsreblog @gravesdiggergirl @nostalgichoya @skulliecadaver-blog @jjubilee-fluff

367 notes · View notes

daxisyzz · 2 months ago

Text

⁺‧˚ ⋆ 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐚𝐥 | 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔 ⋆ ˚‧⁺

𝑬𝒑𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒅𝒆 8: 𝑨 𝑺𝒐𝒇𝒕 𝑪𝑬𝑶? 𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒆.

Pairings: ceo!boss!bucky barnes × fem!reader

Contents: fake dating, chaotic relationship dynamic, workplace romance, contract relationship, yearning??, coffee obsessed reader (I'm sorry for that one), it's getting real, Steve and Nat have smth.

Other characters: bestfriend!Natasha Romanoff, Coworker!Steve Rogers

Summary: You try to keep your distance—he keeps showing up anyway. Soup when you're sick, coffee just how you like it, sticky notes that say things he’ll never say out loud. Then one night, he doesn’t hide behind the contract. “It's not hard. It’s the easiest damn thing I’ve ever felt.” he says, soft like it’s the simplest truth in the world. (You were never going to stand a chance, were you?)

Word count: 2.4k+

Series masterlist

Previous episode

Inspired by the kdrama "Business Proposal"

Previously on Business Proposal...

By the time you board the flight back home, exhaustion has settled into your bones. You lean your head against the window, eyes closed as the engines roar to life.

Bucky says nothing, but when you peek through half-lidded eyes, you find him watching you.

You don't speak.

You just let the silence fill the space between you.

By the time the plane touches down, you’ve both tucked the moment away—filed it under the category of things that almost happened.

And maybe that’s where it’s safest to leave it. For now.

_____________________●

You were ignoring him.

Not entirely—just enough to rebuild the walls that had been steadily crumbling since Paris. After the Eiffel Tower. After that almost-kiss that felt anything but fake. That moment when his breath had hitched and your eyes had locked, the entire illusion wobbling on the edge of something dangerous.

You didn’t let it fall. Not yet. But you did what you were best at—strategic withdrawal.

You still showed up to meetings, still demolished the quarterly reports with your usual dry wit, still pulled the kind of power moves in the boardroom that left executives scrambling to keep up. But there was distance now. Measured. Clinical. Gone were the casual touches and knowing glances. No more lingering beside him when he laughed. No more banter that bordered on flirtation. You’d retreated.

And he noticed. Bucky felt it like a phantom limb.

He started waiting outside work. Not once or twice. Every single night. Like clockwork. Leaning against his absurdly expensive car, sunglasses on despite the setting sun, holding two coffees. Yours always perfectly made—a teaspoon of sugar, extra foam, that stupid cinnamon sprinkle you’d mentioned once.You ignored him the first time, walking away hurriedly. Then the second. The third, you almost stopped—but your mind pushed you on. It was the fourth time that broke you.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, standing on the sidewalk, arms crossed, a frown stitched tight across your face.

“Do what?” he asked innocently, like he wasn’t melting every boundary you’d drawn.

“This. Wait outside. Bring coffee. Offer to drop me home. Act like we we're—”

“Friends?” he offered, his voice soft, and it unraveled something inside you.

You hesitate. You wanted to say no. To remind him—he was your boss. He was paying you to play pretend. There was a contract. A very binding, very serious contract. But instead, you looked at him, at the faint shadows under his eyes, the nervous twitch in his fingers. You sighed, moved forward, took the coffee, avoided the brush of his fingers, and silently got in the car. The coffee was too hot. It scalded your tongue. But you didn’t complain.

Then you caught a cold.

Nothing serious. Nothing you couldn’t usually push through. But this time it lingered—enough to knock you out for two days straight, the world reduced to a blur of tissues and half-drunk mugs.

On the third morning, you shuffled to the door in mismatched socks and an oversized hoodie that swallowed half your body. You weren’t expecting anyone. You certainly weren’t expecting him.

But there he was—James Buchanan Barnes. Standing in your doorway like he’d done it a hundred times before, holding a paper bag of groceries in one hand and cold medicine in the other. His hair was tousled from the wind, his tie slightly loosened as if he’d rushed out of the office.

You blinked, throat too raw for anything but a rasp. “You’re not supposed to show up uninvited.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m the CEO,” he replied, as if that explained everything. “It's my moral duty to check on my employee’s wellbeing.”

You stared at him.

“Also,” he added, holding up the bag, “you didn’t answer a single text. I had to make sure you weren’t dead.”

“I was sleeping,” you muttered, though your voice barely qualified as sound.

He stepped forward like he already knew you’d let him in. You didn’t stop him. You should’ve. You could’ve. But you didn’t.

“I brought soup,” he said casually, slipping past you. “It’s still hot.”

You hesitated in the doorway. You should’ve slammed it behind him. Or demanded he leave. Or reminded him what the contract said—about boundaries, roles, rules.

Instead, you closed the door softly and turned.

He was already in your kitchen, peering into cabinets like he owned the place. Like he’d done it before. Like he belonged.

You watched as he opened drawers until he found a bowl. Poured the soup carefully. Moved with ease, confidence—like it wasn’t the first time he’d taken care of someone. Like he wanted to.

Like he wanted to take care of you.

Your chest tightened with something dangerously close to hope.

You flopped onto the couch, the crumpled blanket still tangled where you’d left it. You pulled it tighter around your legs and tried to act unaffected.

“This definitely isn’t in the contract,” you mumbled.

He walked over with the bowl in one hand, a spoon already resting inside. He knelt—not sat, knelt—in front of the couch and handed it to you.

“Sure it is,” he said smoothly.

You looked down at him, raising an eyebrow. “Show me where.”

He didn’t blink. “Page seven. Subsection three. ‘CEO reserves the right to deliver homemade chicken soup in case of employee’s minor illness.’”

Despite yourself, you huffed a laugh. It scratched your throat but felt good. “Liar.”

“Then consider me guilty.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t leave. Just sat there, eyes fixed on you like he was memorizing everything—the way your nose was red, how your hair was a mess, how your voice was rough around the edges.

He should’ve looked away.

He didn’t.

You shifted under the blanket, suddenly too warm. “I'm fine, you know. It's just a cold.”

“I know,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

And the way he said it—quiet, steady, unflinching—made your heart stutter.

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You didn’t know what to say or how to pin down what had built inside your chest.

He leaned back, sitting on the floor now, his shoulder brushing against the couch. “Was that your first time calling in sick?”

You nodded.

“I figured. You didn’t strike me as someone who slowed down easily.”

You sniffed, eyes darting to the bowl in your hands. “What gave it away? The crumpled tissues or the hoodie?”

He grinned. “The socks, actually. Very professional.”

You glanced down—one sock had tiny stars on it, the other was bright yellow. You rolled your eyes. “I was too tired to care.”

“I like it,” he says, and it sounded a little too soft. “It's real.”

You went still.

Because he didn’t mean the socks. He didn’t even mean the cold. He meant you.

Here. Unfiltered. Vulnerable.

And for a moment, you forgot to be afraid of what that meant.

He stood slowly, his knees cracking slightly, and brushed imaginary dust from his pants. “I’ll put the rest of the groceries away.”

You nodded, the soup forgotten in your lap.

And as he moved around your kitchen like he belonged, you realized: it didn’t feel wrong.

It felt like the most dangerous kind of right.

And that… that terrified you more than anything else.

Then Natasha arrived. Not subtly either. She started popping into your office with designer sunglasses perched on her head and enough iced coffee to drown a horse.

“Brought you caffeine and an escape plan,” she announced, her voice warm but casual, almost like she was hiding something.

“From?”

��Your boyfriend.”

You started noticing it more: the way she lingered, the way she always found a reason to stick around. You asked once, and she just waved it off with, “What? Can’t I miss my best girl?”

You weren’t buying it.

It wasn’t until her third visit in a week that you caught her texting under the desk, lips twitching, ears pink.

“Okay,” you narrowed your eyes. “Who is he?”

She froze. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me. You’ve been moonlighting in my office like it's a second apartment. Spill.”

She exhaled dramatically. “Fine. But if you tell anyone, I’ll steal all your vinyl records.”

You wait.

“Steve,” she mumbled.

You blink. “Steve, as in Rogers? Bucky’s Steve?”

“Well, I like to think of him as mine now.”

You gasped. “How long?”

“A month. We’ve been careful.”

You choked. “Steve Rogers?”

Natasha sipped her coffee with infuriating calm. “Is that so hard to believe?”

You stared. “Kind of, yeah.”

She grinned. “Well, you should try it sometime—letting someone in.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You really thought no one notices the way he looks at you like you hung the moon?”

You glared. She smirked, and that was when you realized—she knew. Not just suspected. Knew. And your stomach twisted in ways you didn’t want to understand.

Meanwhile, Bucky was falling apart.

He sat in his office long after everyone went home, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, eyes vacant. The city outside was quiet, its usual hum distant through the windows. A single lamp cast soft, golden light across the room, making shadows seem deeper, heavier.

Steve found him like that—collapsed in a chair, as if all the tension had leaked out of him and left him hollow.

“She’s pulling away,” Bucky muttered without looking up. His voice was rough, low. “I don’t know what to do.”

Steve leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You scared her.”

Bucky dragged a hand over his face. “How? I didn’t mean to.”

“By being real,” Steve said gently.

Bucky laughed—a humorless, broken sound. “It wasn’t supposed to be real.”

“But it is.”

That truth sat between them like a live wire. Bucky didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Steve crossed the room and sat across from him. “You’ve always been good at pretending, Buck. Surviving. Hiding. But you were never good at pretending not to feel.”

“I was trying to protect her,” Bucky said quietly. “Keep it simple. Clean. Fake.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Since when has anything about love been clean or simple?”

Bucky swallowed hard, throat tight. “Its messy. Complicated. She deserves something easy.”

“She deserves you being honest.”

Bucky’s hands balled into fists. “I don’t know how to do this, Steve. I’ve never felt something like this—not this deep, not this fast. I don’t know how to hold it without breaking it.”

Steve’s expression softened. “Then don’t try to hold it. Just show up. Be there. Let her know it's okay to feel what she’s feeling.”

“She already backed away,” Bucky said. “Like I pushed too hard.”

“Or maybe,” Steve countered, “you finally touched something she was afraid to feel.”

Bucky’s gaze lifted, just barely. Rawness glinted in his eyes. “I don’t want to lose her.”

“Then don’t,” Steve said simply. “Fight for her. But don’t push her. She’s been through stuff too. Let her come to you when she’s ready. Just… don’t disappear.”

Silence stretched. Bucky looked down at his hands. “I'm in love with her.”

“I know.”

“She's not ready.”

“But she wants you,” Steve said. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“And what if I ruined everything?”

Steve smiled, small and sure. “Then at least it would be real.”

Bucky leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. But something had shifted in him. A quiet resolve settled in his chest.

Your days became a chessboard. You pushed, he pulled. You retreated, he advanced.

Sticky notes appeared on your screen—little jokes, doodles, quotes you’d mentioned once. Your favorite granola bars showed up in the break-room fridge, initials scrawled in Sharpie. He attended every meeting now, even the tedious ones he’d used to skip.

“I thought you hated logistics,” you muttered.

“I used to. But I like them now,” he said, instead of blurting out that he liked anything with you in it.

He kept doing it, and it frustrated you. You wanted to scream. Or kiss him. Maybe both.

Through it all, you kept repeating the same damn mantra: It is not real. He is your boss. This is just an act.

But one night, as you were packing up, you found him waiting again.

“You waiting for someone?” you teased, voice almost trembling as you leaned against the doorframe.

He looked up, that glint in his eyes hitting you like a freight train. “Yeah. Always.”

You froze. Your breath caught in your throat, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. His gaze dropped for a moment, as if collecting himself before he stepped toward you—slow and steady, like he was testing the air between you.

“Stop,” you whispered, heart hammering. “Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” he asked, voice impossibly soft, laced with something dangerous.

“Make this harder than it already is,” you breathed, trying to push him away with words that wouldn’t stick.

He stepped closer. “Then let it be easy.”

You shook your head, the weight of your own words pressing down. “There’s a contract. An image to protect. A thousand reasons this can’t work.”

“Then tell me what’s really stopping you.”

You opened your mouth, then hesitated. Swallowed hard. “I just… I don’t think I’m what you want.”

His expression softened, voice quieter now. “That’s the only thing you’ve ever been wrong about.”

His hands stayed at his sides, fingers twitching like he was on the edge of something. “I meant what I said,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “I think about you all the time. I can’t stop. And I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your heart shuddered. “Don’t make this hard,” you pleaded, desperate.

His voice dropped, the words like a confession. “It's not hard. It’s the easiest damn thing I’ve ever felt.”

And then, everything fell away. The distance. The contract. The game you’d been playing. It all faded as you stood there, staring at each other, the silence echoing louder than anything either of you could say. Your breath caught, his gaze locked with yours, and for the first time, you realized:

This had never been fake. Not for either of you.

And maybe it never had to be.

Taglist: @calwitch, @scott-loki-barnes, @baw1066, @awesompawsum, @bucky-baby-barnes, @marianastudiesart, @pattiemac1, @maryevm, @borkybawnes, @mcira, @otterlycanadian, @mrsnikstan, @sebastians-love, @homiesexual-or-homosexual, @winchestert101, @julesandgems, @purplefluffycows, @brckenmemories, @avengersfan25, @samfunko, @mackevanstanfan80, @forthelovelyheart, @quinquinquincy

#⁺‧˚⋆Business proposal⋆ ˚‧⁺#bucky barnes x reader #ceo!bucky barnes #ceo!bucky barnes × worker!reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes #workplace romance #contract relationship #fake dating #bucky barnes imagine #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers x natasha romanoff #sebastian stan x reader #marvel fanfiction #fanfic

185 notes · View notes

bratbarzal · 22 hours ago

Note

Oh I would kill to see luke and his lover travelling europe idk :’)

I sort of have a ~vacation thing in the pipeline for them so I'm gonna bullet point some random thoughts on this while they're fresh in my brain bc I love the idea of them having a little european trip together and doing it the authentic way bc they're just two kids in love and exploring the world!! not super in depth bc like I said there's something else in the works but I am really enjoying doing these extended thoughts!!

luke is the ultimate airport boyfriend no one can change my mind!! like standing in the check in queue with his arm slung over your shoulders or you're in front of him and his chin is resting on your head as he watches the boards to figure out where your gate is!! and he's hauling both of your cases around even though you say you're fine to wheel them, but you like watching as he lifts them onto the belt, and you like eyeing up the way his sleeves cling to his muscles when he's leaning on the desk and going through all the information with the guy behind it!!

and obviously his first thought when you're through security is food, so you're walking hand in hand and he's pretending like he's giving you the choice but he's lowkey dragging you to wherever he wants to go, and you both end up getting burgers and he steals your fries when he's done with his, but you're used to his crappy distraction techniques by now so you just let him do it!! and the two of you have a whole thing where you're swapping parts of your burgers like he'll take your pickles and you'll take his tomato and you just do it without asking because you guys eat so often together that it's just normal!!

and he'll smell all the perfume testers with you in the duty free store!! and try on a bunch of sunglasses and you're taking a bunch of pictures of him in shades that make him look like a bug or an alien hahaha!! but he buys some unisex fragrance you can share and it's that thing where it's the only thing the two of you will spray while you're away so that it will always remind you of that vacation!! and it ends up being a cute tradition every time you leave the country!!

the only thing you'd let him splurge on for the whole trip is the extra leg room seats, and he just about convinces you that premium economy is the way to go, so he gets to stretch out his legs and you get to cuddle into his side with the arm rest raised and you share a set of earphones to watch some random movie on the flight together 🥺 like you don't even bother syncing screens you'll just lay your head on his shoulder and snuggle his bicep and probably fall asleep on him while he's watching conclave or smth

and the two of you aren't exactly hostel hopping but you really wanted a lowkey trip so the hotels you stay in are all super cosy and small, because you're spending most of your time out and exploring anyway, so when you're in your room you're constantly all up in each other's space, and he's always bumping into you and grabbing at you to move you out of the way, and it's all just super intimate and precious to you that you get to be a normal young couple doing normal things away from like him being recognised all the time back home, or not being entirely secure in such a random hotel - when you're away, it's a bit like the bubble you get at the lake house, where he's just Luke, your boyfriend, not Luke Hughes.

and he's been to Europe on tournaments before but he's never been able to properly explore, so you do all this touristy coupley stuff together!! and Luke very much gives goofball energy like if he was in a relationship I don't think he'd be all mr cool I think he'd embrace getting to do dorky shit so like he's eating food from street vendors with absolutely no etiquette, and he's making wishes throwing coins in fountains and taking pictures "resting on" the leaning tower of pisa or pinching at the Eiffel Tower - speaking of have you ever seen those videos of dua lipa and Callum turner dancing near the Eiffel Tower???? they give me Luke and lih!reader vibes all the time they're so cute!!

and Luke is the perfect victim of a tourist trap so he's getting his portrait done by those whacky artists who draw your mouth about half the size of your face and they make his curls all crazy and his neck super long lmao!! and he's getting suckered into buying you flowers all the time off of the ladies who say it's romantic - and yeah, even if the roses aren't real, it is romantic because he gets all blushy and bashful about it!! and he says you have to collect fridge magnets for everywhere you go as a memento because you're not bulking up your luggage but it's cute to have something back home that reminds you of being away together!! and he's super serious about his fridge magnet criteria so you let him have the last say even if they're going on your fridge.

also he's clinging onto you for dear life everywhere you go. your hand doesn't leave his in public, and he's cuddling you in the back of taxis, and standing behind you with his arms draped over you in museums, you're tangling legs under the tables in restaurants, and falling asleep on his shoulder on trains!! bc physical touch Luke is the realest thing to me!!

and one more thing bc I love this concept is he's obviously way quicker at getting ready than you so he'll always sit by you while you're getting ready and just watch and talk to you like you curling your hair is the most interesting thing in the world!! and he's weirdly intimidated by a curling iron but one time he offers to do it for you and he doesn't burn you by some miracle so he's always doing the back of your head while he yaps lmao!! he's always zipping the back of your dresses, and untying your shoes when you finally get back to the hotel room!! and he's watching you put on moisturiser before bed and he always likes when you spread the excess onto his skin 😭😭 he's such a little obsessed lover boy I adore him!!

#sorry this isn't super long but I LOVE THIS CONCEPT #luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes headcanons #💌.tsou #💌.lih #*writing

152 notes · View notes

blueberrybirdsworld · 2 months ago

Text

The Cat Distribution System 4/5

Summary:

When a stray kitten adopts Lando Norris, the self-proclaimed cat hater accidentally starts a soft-launch spiral with his secret girlfriend the ballerina Ariana Riverria.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : Fluff, SMAU

Warning : none, just yeah the kitten will be different in some pictures

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Please let me know if you like it, I try to make it longer with more writen parts.

CHAPTER FOUR :

Paris looked different from the back of the Opera house.

The grand hall behind them was still glowing with chandeliers and whispers of ovations, but out here, in the quiet alley lit by golden lamps and a drizzle of soft rain, it felt like another world. A world where no one knew who they were. No cameras, no flashing lights. Just them. Lando and Ariana.

She was still in her stage makeup, a scarf loosely wrapped around her head, and a long black coat tied neatly at the waist. Her cheeks were flushed—not just from the performance, but from the adrenaline that always lingered afterward.

"You were amazing," Lando said for maybe the seventh time that night.

She looked up at him, one brow raised. "You say that every time."

"Because it's true every time."

He reached above her and tilted the umbrella slightly, so the rain didn’t catch the side of her hair. She hadn’t asked him to carry it—he just grabbed it from her bag the second they stepped outside, muttering something about being a gentleman and ignoring the way Max had loudly snorted in response from the car.

Max and Pietra had left them at the stage door. “We’ll give the lovebirds some air,” Max had teased, earning side look by Lando and an eyeroll from Ariana that still carried a smile.

Now they were strolling through the quieter side of the city, the rhythmic sound of rain on cobblestone filling the space between them.

"Did you even understand the plot?" she asked playfully, nudging his shoulder with hers.

Lando scoffed. "Please. Girl falls in love with boy. Boy lies. Girl dies dramatically in act one. Ghost ballerinas. Forgiveness. Sad curtain drop."

Ariana blinked. "Wow. That’s… not the worst summary I’ve heard."

He grinned, proud of himself. "I paid attention."

"You were texting Max Verstappen during the overture."

"Because he sent me a picture of Charlie with your fuzzy slipper in his mouth. I had to make sure it wasn’t life-threatening."

She laughed, tilting her head back. "You’ve turned into that kind of cat dad."

"Excuse me for caring about my son," he said, feigning offense. "I was stressed the whole first act. What if he missed me?"

She gave him a look. "He’s a cat."

"He’s our cat."

"Okay," she said with a smirk. "You’re not wrong."

They walked a little further, the soft glow of the Eiffel Tower flickering in the misty distance. She stopped in front of a storefront mirror and took out her phone. Behind her, Lando raised the umbrella just a bit so the frame would catch the soft sparkle of the city—and him, just slightly out of view.

@arianariverria

"city days ✨"

@pietra: i know that hoodie. we all know that hoodie.

@pliésballet: we SEE the guy holding the umbrella in the glass Ariana don’t play dumb 😭

@catmomcentral: charlie really said “we soft launching again?”

@slowmo_softlaunch: she’s not even hiding she had a boyfriend anymore

@balletobsessionv the little orange heart is McLarren orange, it can't be a coincidence

Later in a flight from Paris back to Monaco, Lando was pacing.

Not in a dramatic way. Not quite. But his foot kept tapping, and every so often he’d check his phone like he expected Charlie to send a text.

"You know he’s fine, right? Max Verstappen was here to look out for him." Ariana said from her seat, pulling a blanket over her lap.

"He’s so small," Lando muttered. "And emotional. What if he thinks I abandoned him?"

"He probably thinks you went out to buy him more food."

Lando turned around. "What if he got stuck in something? What if he went exploring and couldn’t get out? What if—"

"Baby," she interrupted softly, standing to meet him halfway. "You left the heat on. You put out two bowls of food. You asked Max to go check on him everyday. He’s fine."

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I know. I just… I never expected to miss him this much. Is that weird?"

"No," she said, stepping into his space. "That’s love. He’s a little demon gremlin with toe beans and emotional manipulation powers."

He rested his forehead against hers, finally breathing in. "You’re good at calming me down, you know that?"

"I know."

Monaco — 2:14AM

The lights in the apartment were low. Ariana unlocked the door while Lando hauled their bags in with one hand, already whispering, "Charlie? You here, mate?"

No meow.

Lando froze.

“Where is he—”

And then he saw it.

Right there in the corner of his sim room, nestled inside one of his old karting helmets, was a small, ginger ball of fur—snoring gently.

Ariana watched from the doorway as he sank to his knees like he’d just witnessed the birth of his child.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “He missed me so much he nested in my helmet.”

Ariana bit back a laugh. "Or he just thinks your sweat smells comforting."

Lando shot her a mock glare. "Let me have this moment."

She walked over and knelt beside him, chin on his shoulder as they stared at their very smug, sleeping kitten.

"You’re obsessed," she said.

"You knew this when you let me keep him."

"I regret it every day."

He smiled, eyes still on the little fluffball. "You love it."

"I love you, unfortunately."

"And Charlie?"

"…He’s alright."

Charlie sneezed in his sleep. Lando looked personally offended.

"You’re both the same," Ariana sighed. "Dramatic. Clingy. High-maintenance. And yet somehow—"

"Adorable?"

She rolled her eyes. "Sure. Let’s go with that."

@landonorris

"update: he fits in my helmet now."

@landozoned: this man is a walking contradiction now

@balletandboost: first cats now ballet??? WHO IS SHE (we know who she is)

@chaosgrid: lando adopting an orange cat when he races for McLaren orange is PEAK branding

@maxfewtrell: someone teach this man how to cat

@balletxf1theories: so he’s saying “I love you” to someone. AND they asked about his cat. oh we’re in deep now.

@f1gossiphub: so not only does he have a cat, but he has a GIRLFRIEND who apparently has to compete with said cat??? 😭

Texts messages :

Lando 🧡:

he did the double meow again. does that mean food or chaos

Ari 💃:

it means “i love you, now feed me and maybe i won’t knock your water over”

Lando 🧡:

he bit my toe. was that love ?

Ari 💃:

that was a warning 💀

Lando 🧡:

he stared at me for five minutes straight and then sneezed on my sock

Ari 💃:

yeah that’s normal.

Lando 🧡:

also how do you teach a cat to hi-five. i’m googling and i try to look out for a tuto on YouTube but can't find any

Ari 💃:

oh my god, you’re in too deep now

The next day Lando was joined by Max to stream on his Twitch channel.

Lando was off-camera, rummaging for snacks, while Max kept chat entertained.

"Alright, we’re doing the haunted cabin thing. Ghost dog included. We’re not surviving."

Chat flew:

how’s lando’s cat?

did he name him charlie for real?

show the kitten nooow

Too casually, Max glanced at the chat and said, "Which one? The white one or the orange one?"

A loud choking sound erupted from somewhere off-screen.

"BRO?! WHAT?!"

Max burst into laughter, turning toward the camera with a shit-eating grin.

"What? I just meant, like, in general. Cats. Furry things."

Lando reappeared, snack in hand, jaw dropped.

"You can’t just say things like that casually, you absolute muppet!"

"You’re the one who owns a clowder at this point."

"I’m going to uninstall this game and your internet."

"Worth it."

Chat erupted:

WHITE ONE???

not the second cat reveal mid pasta bite 💀

ariana’s cat is white. you’re not slick.

SOFT LAUNCH GAME: COMPLETED.

Then during a lull in the game, a soft mew piped up off-camera.

Lando paused immediately. "Hold on."

He turned away from the screen, shuffled out of frame, then returned holding Charlie... who was now sporting a very obvious, very soft pink bow tied neatly around his neck.

Max wheezed. "NO WAY. Is that new?!"

Lando looked directly at the camera, blank-faced. "Oh wait I forgot to take it off."

Chat lost it:

PINK BOW. PINK BOW. PINK BOW.

we have confirmation: lando is in love with this kitten and/or a ballerina

not very 'i hate cats' of you 😭

That's the same orange cat with pink bow that Ariana posted in her insta ! Ultimate proof that it IS the same kitten

CHARLIE IN A BOW >>>

Texts messages :

Lando 🧡:

you owe me. twitch saw the bow.

Ari 💃:

he looked adorable. i regret nothing.

Lando 🧡:

chat thinks i'm the type of guy to tie pink bow around my cat for fashion reasons

Ari 💃:

i mean... it’s 2025. masculinity is fluid. embrace it.

Lando 🧡:

i’m going to buy one for me to match with charlie

Ari 💃:

honestly? kind of hot

Lando 🧡:

okay but seriously... maybe it’s time?

Ari 💃:

to stop hiding?

Lando 🧡:

yeah. i mean, Charlie already told everyone anyway.

Ari 💃:

true. he’s the worst-kept secret of this relationship.

Part 5

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist !

349 notes · View notes

sinning-23 · 10 months ago

Text

Backseat Pillow Princess (Pt.2)

And by popular demand (and because ei couldn't just leave it how I had it and planned on making a part 2 anyway) I BRING YOU PT.2! I really tried to conjure of some kinky freak nasty shit in this y'all so uhhh just be dually noted that I really tried my best with this.

Warnings: tag-team, p in v, multiple rounds, refractory period? we don't know her, creampie, unprotected, biting, choking, eiffel tower in a fucking car dude it gets wicked, nipple play, edging, degrading, praise, light banter, how did we end up outside the gd car????, spit as lube

Hope yall enjoy lol the endingit idk ill probably tweak it later yall pls dotn shame me i was starting to feel bad for makingyall wait so long!

Enjoy~

PT.1 HERE

______________________________________________________________

It all happens so fast that you can hardly register the clash of teeth and tongue. You can feel the growl that rises up his throat and past his lips on your own, the taste metallic but sweet.

You’re breathless, Wade attacking your neck with the same speed and intensity. Your senses are overwhelmed, body riding a 9-hour (give or take) high.

"You are a fucking sicko, you’re soaked through the leather." Logan grunts, tugging your lower lip with his canines,

"Forget that, look at her tits," Wade gasps, looking at the little bumps your hardened nipples made through the fabric.

Part of you should feel embarrassed but you can’t seem to function when there're two separate mouths and two pairs of hands adorning your body. If your uniform wasn't torn to shreds, it definitely was now, a familiar set of claws slicing latex leather away from your flesh easily.

"Great now what am I supposed to wear when this is over?! At least be a little nice to me!" You huff, peeling the shredded fabric away before attacking the older man before you.

A bit surprised, Logan leans back against the door, your chest flush against him as your breaths mix, hot and heavy in the space. You can feel Wade shift, large hands at your hips with your ass against his pelvis. Finding Logan’s zipper was easy, your fingertips tugging at it as you caught his lower lip between your teeth.

"C'mon let's make this fair. I’m the only one showing some skin.” You purr, pulling the little piece of metal down to reveal tanned, toned abs. The thin sheen of sweat and blood makes them glisten.

You practically drool, the sight of them in the moonlight now seared into your brain.

"Jesus you're built like a brick fucking wall-" You gasp, hesitating to touch before running your hands down Logan's chest, then stomach.

"Like a godddamn marble sculpture," Wade adds, taking his chance to admiring the man beneath the both of you.

He chuckles a bit, shrugging his sleeves off before connecting your lips again. It’s shot though, mostly because you can’t help but look at him.

“Nuh uh, lemme see you.” You command, pushing him back against the door.

He groans, your lip tucking beteeen your teeth as you presses kisses to his pulse, trailing downward as his neck flexed perfectly with the rest of his torso and stomach.

“Gorgeous.” You mumble, finally making your way down to his v-line before licking a stripe right back towards, ending it with a faint bite.

“Shame I can’t mark you up how I want, you’ll just heal it.” You sigh, thumbs tracing Logan’s belt now.

You grind down, a heavy, “oh fuck,” leaving your lips as Wade chuckles from behind you. Speaking of which, he had managed to pull your uniform a little past your ass, his hands squeezing the flesh there.

Of course you can’t help but tilt your head back, accepting sloppy open-mouth kisses from the mercenary when he cups your pussy from behind. Purposefully dragging his middle finger between your folds, his mouth swallows up your whimpers, a grin ever present over the lower half of his scarred face.

"Shit you weren't lying, she is soaked." Wade huffs, licking a stipe up your neck, his chest flush against your back

"You know I had to find a way to get your attention, I was starting to feel left out?" Wade taunts, his ring and middle finger two-knuckles deep in you, the squelching echoing.

Logan, eager to please makes a point to suck a mouthful of your tits, his canines grazing over them. He growls, breathing hot against your skin. His free hand cups your other, thumb swiping over your nipple as your palm presses down against his bulge.

"You gonna take it out or just keep pushing on it?" Logan grumbles, hips rolling into you.

It's hard to think, pleasure flooding your senses as you try your hand at helping his length spring free. Fuck, he's rock hard. And soon enough it's in your hand, hard, hot, and dripping with precum.

If you had to give an example of a photogenic dick, his would be at the top of your list. It's got a slight upward bend, the tip slightly tanned as beads of precum rolled down the side. And right beside that slick train that oozes downward, is a thick vein adorned by a smaller one. Your mouth waters, tongue lulling out of your mouth to taste it.

You're stopped, however, when Wade grips your hair, reminding you that HE is the one with his fingers in you, making your pussy drool with each thrust.

You pause, squeezing the base of Logan's dick in response, just to have the male sigh heavily under you.

"Almost lost your manners huh? That's okay I'll help you." Wade announces, seeing the brief irritation flash behind Logan's hazel eyes.

"You ask when you want something," Wade huffs, tone low and dangerous.

You swallow hard, taking a deep breath through your nose before using your thumb to press down on the tip.

"Please?" You whimper, mouth watering now, needing nothing more than to wrap your lips around his length.

"Please what, honey?" Logan encourages, using his thumb to push past your kiss-bitten lips and press down on your tongue, the saliva dripping down his palm and forearm.

"Please let me suck it." You finish, a satisfied grin finally filling Logan's features.

He nods his head in your direction, his fist at the base as you roll your tongue out your mouth, engulfing the tip, tasting the bittersweet precum slide down your throat. He groans, releasing his hand the farther down you go.

You thank the gods above for your almost nonexistent gag reflex, because once you got a feel for just how he settled in your mouth,you wasted to time getting him acclimated to your throat.

"Fuckkkk that's it, honey, swallow." He grunts, flashing those pretty canines as you do exactly what he says, the flex of your throat making his hand shoot to your head.

Between the feeling of you gulping Logan down and Wade's fingers still stretching you out, you're bound to reach your peak at any minute now. And then you feel it.

Empty for a moment, and finally...

"What, you didn't think I was getting this pussy ready for nothing did you?" Wade chuckles, your spine shivering when his tip slid between your aching wetness.

Arching more, Wade grabs a nice handful of the flesh between your hips and your ass, easily filling your needy cunt as you lift your head, gasping in response to the stretch. A sign of saliva connects your lower lip to the slightly reddened tip of Logan's cock. All you can do is whimper, bracing yourself as Wade thrusts into you, pace quick and calculated.

"F-uck!' You hum, each thrust breakign up the syllabus

Your hands scrath at Logan's chest, using him as an anchor to keep yourself from cumming too quickly. He only chuckles, tugging your hair to place a bruising kiss on your lips, his free hand using your saliva to pick up where you'd left off.

"Squeezing, fuck you're tight." Wade huffs, teeth sinking into your shoulder as Logan's lips swallow up your painfully pleasured whine.

"Close, so close, need it" Is all you can muster up, your hips now meeting his in an attempt to speed the process up.

And sure enough, the knot that had worked its way into your core finally snaps, your strangled moans filling up and pouring out the Honda, your head throwing itself back, as you ride out the high. All you can hear are praises and encouragement from behind and in front of you, all of which are fading in and out as your ears ring.

'Thats it'

'C'mon honey give it to me'

'Good fucking girl'

'So wet holy shit'

'Look how fuckin pretty you are'

'That arch, jesus christ'

"Sooo good, oh fuck yes." You whine, tucking your lower lip between your teeth.

Once your eyes manage to flicker back open, you're met with the prettiest view, and you gasp at the sight, already feeling yourself ready for another round.

Thee he was, eyes screwed shut, brows creasing as his chest rises and falls in time with his fist, which was now dripping with thick, silky looking ropes of cum. His jaw is clenched, a growl bubbling past his lips as you reach your hand down to help guide him, the substance coating your fingertips.

"You look so pretty when you cum." You hum, then grabbing his jaw to give another forecefull yet intimate kiss, your tongues slipping past one another.

“My turn,” Logan growls, pulling the door open in one swift movement before tugging your body outside the car.

You gasp, legs feeling more like jelly after Wade had already turned your insides to mush.

You wobble a bit, using the edge of the door to steady yourself before you’re stuffed full again. An overstimulated moan forces its its way out of you. He feels even better inside than in your palm. And yet, he doesn’t move, the sound of Logan’s hollow, shaky breaths mere centimetres from your ear.

“Oh honey.” He groans, his hips moving just to slam back into you, a pleasured yelp leaving your lips in response.

“Can hardly take it, look at you fucking shaking.” He chuckles, sinking his teeth into your shoulder, your head falling foreward as you’re overwhelmed with so many different feelings. The pain from the fight mixed with the pleasure from his strokes and the previous orgasm.

“Don’t- oh Fuckk. Don’t patronize me-.” You whimper, gripping the edge of the door for dear life, the smack of his pelvis to your ass loud and rhythmic.

As if you weren’t already fucked out, Wade managed to scoot riiiiight in front of you, just enough so that his cock is resting against your cheek, and god does your mouth water.

“Let’s keep you busy, huh sweetie?” Wade hums, his tip pressing against your glossy lower lip.

You’re eager to accept, letting your tongue roll around the head before taking as much of him as you can. Every slight thrust of his hips pushed him further and further down your throat, alive dripping down your chin and onto the torn, blood-stained seats below.

It doesn’t take long before you’re right back to square one, legs trembling as your labored breaths quicken in pace.

“Ohhh fuck, squeezing. You’re about to cum arent you honey?” Logan chuckles, squeezing the flesh of your hip before landing a brutal smack to your ass.

He smirks at the sight of the recoil, and doesn’t it again, each smack leaving a nice shade of red. You don’t even have a chance to warn him before you cum, the blissful feeling making you shudder, throat coated with sticky release as Wade tangles his fingers in your scalp.

What you weren’t expecting, was for your release to trickle down your thighs, each thrust only making your squelch more and more. The familiar twinge of overstimulation ravages your senses as you swallow down Wade’s release.

And unfortunately, you’re empty again, peeking over your shoulder just to see Logan finishing on the perfect curve of your back. The pearly beads of cum rolling down your ass and up your spine.

There’s a few beats of silence, paired with the laibored breathes or three violent and fucked out regenerarive assholes.

But of course, Wades specially is breaking silence.

“Hey how come you didn’t squirt for me?” He huffs in faux disappointment.

You can practically hear Logan roll his eyes, whom of which had made a point to massage where he had hit earlier.

“Please shut the fuck up.” Logan huffs, shuffling around the car to either A: find something to clean you up with or B: something for you to wear.

Either way, you're beyond fucked out, the previous tension finally dying down as you're bathed in moonlight. It takes a little effort from the two males but they successfully lean you against the middle console.

Lucky for you, there just so happened to be an extra set of clothes hidden in the trunk most likely belonging to the variant you got this stupid car from anyway.

Meh, I think missing clothes will be the least of his worries considering this piece of shit car is absolutely thrashed...

And now tainted with spit and cum-

Tag list: @awoodsysimp411 @solheartz @brucebannerswifey @oscarissac2099 @yourlocalhot-simp @of-daisies-and-dandelions @peachybaby255 @bby-pinky-pink @mimi786 @bontensbabygirl @jupiterlvr @silverloveless @saturnhas82moons @zeeader @queermaxwooo @turtlefordestiel @dumpster-hellfire @kultofkorii @mxtaurus @bumblebeebutter @buryth3hatchet @9iavolo @speedybeta @myersobsessed

428 notes · View notes

esmedelacroix · 3 months ago

Text

01 - Details

synopsis ! he’s an American football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night. She’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life. They lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room.

previous chapter | series masterlist

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol abuse, suggestive

fic radio ! Crybaby by SZA

Ohio State University, Autumn of Senior Year

To say that you didn't change would be an understatement. You felt too much guilt when you got to school. So at college, you were the same straight-A, (seemingly)perfect girl. You were the complete opposite of the people in your friend group. Then again, Shoko and Satoru were business majors; what were they doing in class anyway?

Suguru was the only one who shared your struggles to an extent as a philosophy major. Even so, he didn't care about his grades as much as you did yours. During your entire college experience, you didn't go to a single party. It was always extra studying for you. But you weren't a complete troglodyte. You went out to eat with your friends—occasionally.

They also had a habit of breaking into your dorm and closing your books and laptop, forcing the hangouts. You couldn't risk that happening because you were preparing to wow your professors with your knowledge as an Ancient History and Classics major. Being your extra self, you also double majored in English and already wanted to get a head start on your writing assignments.

You went where you knew they couldn't find you. The library at the least popular end of campus was where all the try-hards, like yourself, studied. The library was busy, of course, and there was one more study room left, so you signed your name in the time slot and snagged the last room. You had documents strewn on the table with your laptop open, playing the classical piece you needed to analyze on repeat.

After about 30 minutes of complete peace and productivity. You turned your head towards the clear glass of the study room to see a scary man standing at the door. Just staring. At you.

That man was Ryomen Sukuna. The charismatic campus heartthrob and stereotypical quarterback of the football. He was also the school's resident airhead along with his partner in crime, Toji Fushiguro. You had heard rumors about the numerous women seen leaving his room and the alleged Eiffel Towers he partook in with Toji. It didn't help that he was in the same frat as Satoru. The sole reason why you never visited him and Suguru. But what the hell was he doing here?

You look around warily before getting up and opening the door. “Um . . . Can I help you?” you questioned.

“Let’s share this room.”

“I have it signed out for this time though. I wrote my name on the sign-up sheet,” you reasoned.

“Doesn’t matter. The librarians like me so they won’t mind and I see you’re not using your whiteboard. ‘S all I need,” he sighed rubbing the back of his neck tiredly.

“Okay,” you hesitatantly agreed, stepping aside for him to walk in.

You stayed silent as you felt him tower over you. He barely squeezed past the small space you left him to enter. The smell he left was a combination of musk, oud, cedar, and amber. He smelled like a warm home with a cozy fire crackling. As much as you hated to admit it, just like every other girl on earth, you were weak for Ryomen Sukuna. The way his pecs and muscular back poked out of his shirt like mountains emerging from the fog had you aching for him in a way that made you feel ashamed.

His light pink tufts of hair looked so soft and his jaw oh so sharp. You could see a plethora of tattoos adorning his arms. Your eyes followed them as they led into his shirt. Part of you wondered just how much of his body was tatted.

If you squinted you could see his abs peek through the semi-tight fabric of his white t-shirt. He was so much taller and bigger than you. You felt dominated and you hadn’t even exchanged many words.

You watched the muscles in his forearms flex as he uncapped your pink marker, which sat on the table along with your other colorful markers he helped himself to without asking. He jotted down numerous math problems you didn't know existed.

You then realized that you hadn't moved from where you stood before because you were staring. Pulling yourself from his trance, you closed that door and took your seat. You'd occasionally look up from the fifteen-page essay you were writing and see that Sukuna had written the most complicated math problem you had ever seen in small-print, neat handwriting. The way he handled and solved the problem was so organized you almost felt like you almost understood the numeric hieroglyphics on the board.

You looked down at your hand written notes and annotation-riddled documents. Your fatal flaw was your illegible handwriting. It was practically jibberish to everyone but you.

After twenty minutes, Sukuna finished his problem that practically covered the whole board and took a brain break sitting across from you. "What's with the music?" he asked.

"I'm analyzing it for a class. Not a fan?" you replied, eyes still glued to your laptop as you typed.

"No, I like Hymn to Vena. It's one of Gustav Holst's best pieces," he admitted.

"You know classical music?" you questioned in shock finally looking up at him. You met his piercing wine-colored eyes.

"Well I'm not completely braindead yet," he shrugged.

"I didn't know you were so historically seasoned and . . . mathematically inclined," you admitted, gesturing towards the solved complex equation on the board.

"Ah, that's nothing. I'm actually in your Intro to Classical Music class so I’m doing the same paper.”

"Wait. Really?"

"Yeah, I just sit in the back and you sit in the front," he smirked.

"First of all, there is nothing wrong with sitting in the front. Secondly, I had no idea you were in my class. I'm the worst," you smiled apologetically.

"You're good. I can't write for shit so I haven't even started the paper," Sukuna admitted leaning back in his chair and resting his large hands behind his head.

"It's due next week, Sukuna!" you exclaimed in disbelief. He noted the way your nose wrinkled when you cringed. And the way you looked away when you tried not to laugh at his jokes.

"It's no biggie. I'll just pay a writing tutor to do it for me," he said, getting up and grabbing a teal EXPO marker from your pencil pouch. This guy is too comfortable.

"I'm a writing tutor. In fact, I am the head of the writing center tutoring program," you revealed with an unimpressed look.

"Well, then you just made my life a whole lot easier. Can you write my essay about Pas de Deux for me?" he questioned.

"No, Sukuna, I'm not writing your essay for you. You didn't even say please. I could tutor you, but that's about it," you offered.

"C'mon let's work something out here," he bargained.

"What could you possibly have to offer me?" you quite condescendingly challenged.

"Well, I know that the only class you're not the top in is our Advanced Multi-variable Calculus class," he smugly stated.

"And how would you know that smarty-pants?” you retorted. Our? He's in that class too?

"'Cause I am, you ding-dong," he chuckled. Ryomen Sukuna is at the top of our math class? I thought people were lying when they said he was a math major!

"Okay so you want us to tutor each other?" you questioned.

"I was thinking more of a 'do each other's work' arrangement," Sukuna reasoned, he had a stupid smirk plastered on his stupid perfect lips. He quirked one of his beautiful perfect brows. It had a scar across it that you found very attractive for whatever reason. He's totally putting the moves on me, you thought.

"No."

"Okay, how about I teach you the math, you write my essay?"

"No."

"Okay . . . You just write my essay and I do your math work and get you into the Pi Kappa Alpha[fraternity name] parties? Final offer," he proposed.

"I think you're mistaken, Sukuna. I do not go to parties. I do not break the academic integrity rules put in place by the university, and I would much rather continue getting 70s on my math tests than ever get my work done by someone else," you snapped. He didn't want to admit it, but he was impressed by your ability to talk back to him. He had never been told off like that.

"Oh, fine. We can tutor each other," he sighed rolling his eyes.

"Good," you smiled. He shook his head in disbelief and wrote down an even more complex problem on the board and began solving it occasionally grumbling under his breath when the two of you met eyes. He wasn't actually annoyed. In fact, he was intrigued. He had waited this long to interact with you and now he didn't want to stop.

"You're a real piece of work _____," he teased, as the time slot for the room finally ran out.

"Am I Sukuna? Or am I just the first woman to say no to you?" you quipped.

He smiled and shrugged, "Somethin' like that." You hated to admit it but, he had a really cute smile. His resting face made him look like he could kill everything in sight. His smile softened his facial features. It wasn't that fake cocky smile he put on to seem hot or be a tease. It was a real genuine smile. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. Ugh, why do I need to be like all the other girls that pine for him?

The two of you left the room after packing all your stuff. You gave Sukuna your number and email on a sticky note. "Text me when you want to study again. Sorry about my handwriting by the way," you apologized sheepishly.

"What do you mean? I can read it just fine," he questioned.

Wow, he might be the only one on the planet, you thought as the two of you left the library side by side.

"You don't need to lie, Sukuna," you joked.

"Just Ryo is fine," he corrected.

"Okay Ryomen," you smiled.

He rolled his eyes playfully at you saying his full name instead. Internally he knew: he liked the way you disobeyed him. He found the way you smiled to yourself trying not to laugh after making a joke cute.

It was all in the details. The way you sat in the front of the class every day with a notebook out. The way you impressively scribbled notes while still looking at the board.

He memorized the way you chewed on your pen and bounced your leg whenever you did an exam. The way you always participated. Staying after to help the professor clean up. Going to office hours. You were friendly and bantering with all your teachers. But somehow in an effortless charismatic way and not a ‘pick me’ way.

You didn't know, but he stared holes into your back in every single class. He was amused just staring at your back. Though he knew you wouldn't be there he looked for you in the large sea of people in the stadium. He watched you succeed and rise to the challenge. Listening in on your musical analysis in class he was mesmerized. He just wanted to wander through your mind. Maybe then he could be just as great as you.

In his short interaction with you, he made a realization. You weren't the preppy, bubbly, sweet girl he made you up to be in his mind. You were kind of a bitch. In the hottest way possible. That made you all the better. He needed more and more of you.

. . .

-> next part

@minasuniverse @not-a-glad-gladiator @love-me-satoru @sukunawhores @emoedgylord @domainofmarie @sadrna @lazylunarlover @tamishadawn @boudoirbae @river-vixenn @bitchyfestivalbouquet @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @clp-84 @emochosoluvr @yoongithebean @linaaeatsfamilies @magalimachete @chubbydumplingbarnes @katsukiseyebrows

comment to be added to the taglist !

166 notes · View notes

majesticarlette · 4 months ago

Text

The Wall Between Us

masterlist Synopsis: What if you're Ladybug but also Adrien's ex? Pairings: Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir x Reader Note: It's been a while since the last time I updated here in Tumblr. I missed you guys so much.

The moon hung high above Paris tonight, casting a pale light in your bedroom. The night felt heavier than usual, the silence is making your ears ring. You lie curled on your side, face half-buried in the pillow, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. Your chest tightens, breaths uneven, lips trembling as they fight back a sob. Sheets lay tangled around you, the silence finally broken only by a shaky inhale on the edge of tears.

“I'm worried about you, (Y/n).” Tikki spoke, she hovered over your pillow.

Sighing, you raised your gaze to look at your surroundings and your kwami. Tikki is genuinely worried about you. Behind her, it’s evident that you’re moping around your bedroom for a few days now. Your room slightly a mess with some of your pillows off the bed and clothes and papers clutter the floor. “It’s just so hard Tikki.”

It's hard seeing the person whom you loved so much appear in front you after a long time of having no contact. He looked good, too good as if time never touched him at all. He still looks effortlessly put together. His tousled blond hair frames a soft, hesitant yet kind smile. One that lingers in your mind long after he’s gone. And it's true, even though he's gone you can't help but still think about him.

"Are you still thinking about him?" Tikki said softly, landing on your shoulder.

"It's hard for me because it feels like I haven't moved on at all." Maybe it must've been you who was not touched by time at all. Still stuck in the moment where he probably left and moved on. "I thought I was finally doing well, but when I saw him that day... It felt as if my heart broke in pieces again."

For so long, you had tried to let go, to convince yourself that he wasn’t yours to hold onto anymore. But then he walked through the school doors, and suddenly, it all came rushing back.

Adrien Agreste, finally here. Finally outside the cage his father had built for him—at least, as much as Gabriel Agreste allowed. He had been given permission to attend school, to make friends, to live just a little more freely. But that’s all it ever was with him, wasn’t it? Permission.

His father had allowed this, but he hadn’t allowed you.

That was what stung the most. Adrien had asked to be with you, just like he had asked to go to school. And when his father said no? That was it. He hadn’t fought. He hadn’t pushed back. He had let their love be another thing controlled, another thing taken from him—except it wasn’t just taken from him. It was taken from you, too.

"Maybe you just need more time."

It sounded so simple, but how long are you going to wait? Time passing hasn't erased anything but only repressed these feelings you're burdened with. What hurt the most is that being Ladybug was the only thing keeping you together. With the mask on, there was no time to overthink, no space for heartbreak. Every leap across rooftops, every successful lucky charms, every purified akuma gave you a purpose that had nothing to do with the weight in your chest. And with Chat Noir, he somehow helps alleviate the heavy feeling on your chest. His jokes, no matter how ridiculous, pulled a smile from you. The way he trusted you so completely, without hesitation, made it feel like you're not alone.

"I need some air." You sat abruptly.

"Like a patrol? Right now?" Tikki asked

"Yeah, just a quick one. I promise."

After transforming, you quickly went on your way to clear your head through feeling the crisp breeze of the night air while silently hopping across rooftops and eventually settling on one with a great view of the Eiffel Tower. Paris looked peaceful from up here. Timeless, untouched by the chaos of everyday life unless Hawkmoth is still awake at this ungodly hour.

You wished you could feel the same.

Settling onto the edge of the roof, you let out a slow breath, your gaze tracing the winding roads, the tiny specks of people still moving through the city, living their lives. It should have been comforting. This was your Paris, the place you had sworn to protect. But tonight, it only made you feel smaller, like you were watching the world move on without you.

"Rooftop brooding? I thought that was my thing."

You tensed, already knowing who it was before turning. Chat Noir stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his usual smirk in place, but there was something softer in his gaze, something knowing.

You huffed, looking away. "I’m not brooding."

"Right," he said, stepping closer. "Just dramatically staring at the Eiffel Tower in the dead of night. Totally normal behavior."

You rolled your eyes, but the usual bite wasn’t there. Maybe because he wasn’t wrong. Maybe because, for all his teasing, he wasn’t pushing you to explain. He was just there, as he always was.

Chat Noir sighed, leaning against the ledge beside you. "Rough night?"

You look at him, your eyes are glassy. They lack the usual confidence and spark. Chat Noir doesn't have to second guessed that these eyes cried a river and had no tears left to cry. His gaze softened, but you know he's not the type to pry in your personal problems because the two of you swore that no one could know who you are even the both you as trusted partners. However, the weight of your feelings is clamoring for you to speak up. Pour your heart out for a cathartic bliss.

You hesitated. You could lie, brush it off, change the subject. But what was the point? He’d see right through you anyway.

"You ever feel like…" You swallowed, you panned your eyes on the city below. "Like no matter how hard you try to move forward, the past keeps dragging you back?"

Chat was quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice softer than she expected, he said, "Yeah. More than you know."

You turned to look at him, surprised by the weight behind his words. His usual carefree mask had slipped, just a little.

You held his gaze for a second longer than you meant to. There was something unspoken in his eyes, something that made your chest tighten. It wasn’t the usual playfulness, the relentless optimism you had come to expect from him. It was understanding. A quiet, aching kind of understanding. Why do you know this?

You looked away first. “It’s just frustrating,” you admitted, gripping your yoyo and tracing your thumb along the details maybe it might help you piece the words you’ll say. “I keep telling myself I’m over it, that I’ve moved on, but then—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Then I see him, and it’s like no time has passed at all.”

Chat didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, you wondered if you said too much. But then he chuckled, though it was a little hollow.

“Yeah. Feelings are annoying like that.”

You glanced glanced at him, catching the way his jaw tensed, how his usual easy smirk faltered just slightly. He wasn’t just humoring you. He understood too well.

You hesitated. “There’s someone, isn’t there?”

Chat’s ears twitched, and for the first time that night, he looked caught off guard. “What?”

You tilted your head, studying him. “You speak like someone who knows exactly what I mean.”

He opened his mouth as if to deny it, but then he just sighed, running a gloved hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he admitted. “There is.”

That surprised you more than it should have. Chat Noir had always been flirty, always joking about his “undying love” for you. But this? This was different.

You swallowed. “What happened?”

Chat shrugged, his smile small and tired. “I let one thing destroy the only thing precious to me.”

You knew that feeling all too well.

For a while, the both of you just sat there, side by side, staring out over the city. No teasing, no banter—just quiet understanding.

And maybe, just for tonight, that was enough.

#miraculous ladybug imagine #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste x reader #adrien agreste #chat noir x reader #miraculous ladybug x reader #chat noir #cat noir x reader #cat noir #miraculous ladybug reader insert #miraculous ladybug au

303 notes · View notes

ramp-it-up · 1 month ago

Text

Muse: Seven

Muse: Six | Muse Masterlist | Epilogue

Peach Masterlist | Knock You Down Masterlist | Minx Masterlist

Summary: Paris is for lovers. And hard launches. And exes. And you run again. How does Ari put up with you?

Pairing: Art Curator! Ari Levinson x Plus sized model! Reader; Ransom Drysdale x Reader (past); Ransom Drysdale x Minx

Word count: 5.3 K

A/N: Muse has been a series of one shots featuring Muse and Ari, and this the sixth one. This is the last chapter and I don’t want to quit them, so there will be one more, an epilogue next Monday. 🥹 Big thanks to @princessphilly who basically inspired the premise and has endured me being unhinged in her inbox. For this one, I was thinking of a movie with a scantily clad Daveed Diggs (for science, i was thinking of it for science), named Velvet Buzzsaw. That was my first time hearing about Art Basel, which is over 50 years old. Art Basel is an art fair that is kind of like fashion week for art but not really? It’s held annually in Basel, Switzerland, Miami, Hong Kong, and Paris. Ransom Drysdale and Minx (kinda) also make an appearance in this story. This AU is the nexus, not only connected to the Peach and Knock You Down verses, but also the Minx verse. I love reblogs, replies, asks and likes. Let me have it! :)

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT! Read at your own risk; curate your own experience. Art Curator Ari. Plus sized model Reader, Paris brings out the ferality in Muse and Ari. Hard launches and Paparazzi.reference to anal if you squint, Oral (m/f receiving), mucho raw p in v creampie, partitions, SIZE KINK, breeding kink, multiple orgasms. Plot and porn.

I don’t have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post!

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

Paris always made you feel like the best version of yourself.

There was something about the buildings, the Seine, the sky behind the Eiffel tower, and the click of your heels echoing in a quiet alley that made you feel cinematic. Legendary. And Art Basel and Fashion Week had collided like a perfectly orchestrated climax.

You were running on no sleep, fresh off a red-eye and straight into a Montmartre shoot. It had been four hours under brutal white lights. But your skin still glowed and our smile was still soft. Because you knew what came next.

Ari.

Your phone buzzed just as you stepped out of the dressing room. One message. No preamble:

Thinking of that ass. And the way you let me have it seven nights ago, then destroyed my soul by jetting around the globe. I am a shell of a man.

You laughed quietly to yourself, then texted back:

Miss you too. Be ready.

An hour later, you stepped into the Palais de Tokyo, not just late, but intentionally so. Your black satin slip skimmed every curve, slits flashing thigh with every step. Your legs looked endless. And your scent, Guerlain Vanille, the one he gave you for your birthday, along with a rare art book and the vintage sapphire earrings you were wearing, left chaos in your wake.

You weren’t here just for fashion.

You were here for him.

The moment you stepped into the gallery space, the noise changed. You belonged to this world, but you weren’t here for them. You scanned the gallery, and found him instantly.

He stood by a sculpture made of raw steel and twisted silk, a dark suit stretched perfectly across his broad, tall frame, hand in his pocket, the other cradling a glass of something expensive. Ari looked like everything you ever let yourself want.

And the second he saw you, he stopped breathing.

You always did this. Wreck his composure with nothing but proximity.

Ari had been holding it together for six days. Endless events, curated smiles, too many people saying too much in too many languages.

But the second you walked into the gallery, everything narrowed into one beautiful point.

He didn’t come to you. Just stared. Ravaged you with his eyes like he’d been starved for weeks, not six days. But six days apart felt like weeks. LA, New York, now Paris. Your lives were runway fast and whirlwind cruel.

You drifted toward him slowly, although you wanted to run into his arms. You played it cool by skimming your fingers along the edges of the sculpture, pretending indifference while your body burned.

People in these two worlds didn’t really know what you and Ari were. Not yet. No hard launch. Just one half-blurry photo of him kissing your cheek weeks ago that disappeared in 24 hours that only your Close Friends saw.

You tilted your head at the sculpture’s chaos.

“Entanglement or control?” you murmured.

Ari leaned in behind you, lips grazing the shell of your ear, spreading the low flame in your body into a wildfire.

“I think it’s about being tied to someone. Willingly.”

You glanced up at him.

“Is that a metaphor, Mr. Levinson?”

He just smiled, sipping his drink like he wasn’t two seconds from dropping it and hauling you into the nearest corner. Like he wasn’t picturing your thighs spread and your cunt on his tongue.

You read the title of the piece aloud.

Disconnection. You raised a brow.

He didn’t skip a beat.

“Fitting, since I haven’t touched you in six fucking days.”

You smirked. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

“One I fully intend to solve tonight.”

His hand slid down your back, anchoring at your spine. He inhaled the vanilla on your skin and he was already hard, grateful fashion had done away with slim-fit pants.

You both remembered it, how you almost missed your flight last week, the way he ran down the street after you, barefoot and shirtless, just to kiss you again. The way you laughed, letting him back in to finish dressing.

You both needed each other’s keys.

You didn’t make it out if the gallery without his hand curling possessively at your waist. Didn’t make it to the car without his mouth crashing onto yours in the shadow of a Rodin.

Neither of you cared who saw.

And by the time you got back to his rented flat in Le Marais, it wasn’t a question of if.

It was how fast.

The door slammed behind you.

He kissed you against the inside of it, his mouth wild against your skin, his hands pushing your dress up and off your body like it wasn’t worth a small fortune. It puddled to the floor. You stood before him in heels and nothing else.

“I fucking missed you,” he growled, hoisting you into his arms. “Every second.”

He carried you down the hall, undressed you slowly as he peeled off his own clothes, kissing you, whispering words of devotion as his mouth devoured you.

“I love you,” he breathed against your skin.

“I love you so much, Muse.”

His mouth closed around your nipple, teasing and tugging with his lips, tongue and teeth and driving you to the edge of delirium. Every sound suck tightened the coil in your belly.

Molten heat was curling through your veins.

A thought pinged in the back of his mind to try and make you cum that way, but that was for later. Now, he was too desperate.

“Ohhhh. Ari.. Love you too.. Missed you so much…”

He kissed a trail down your stomach, each press deeper, rougher. He held you down as you writhed, hands planted to keep you from floating away.

“I’m going to love you so hard you won’t know what hit you. Gonna remind you who you belong to.”

He parted the soft lips of your cunt, skating his fingers over your clit.

“So fucking beautiful.”

His tongue slid over your slick folds, and you whimpered, fisting the sheets, thighs falling open in surrender. His tongue danced over your clit. He licked and sucked, coaxing you apart like he knew your every nerve ending.

Ari devoured you with patience and precision, whispering filth and praise between every stroke as he drove you higher and higher. He felt like a king as he earned the flavor of your orgasm on his tongue.

“So sweet. So mine.”

You reached for his thick cock with its beautiful roping veins, sliding your fingertips over the pearl of pre-cum at the tip. He hissed, jerking slightly as he spilled a little more and you slid your fist along his length

“Need you,” you gasped. “Inside. Now.”

“Shit. I need it too. For the rest of my life…”

You pulled him closer, so crazy in lust and love that you needed him like air. He slid into you in one deep, thick push that stole your breath. He stretched you out, and your cunt wrapped around his big cock and took him deep inside your body.

You wrapped your limbs around him, needing him closer, needing all of him.

“Fuck, Ari, yes, right there, just like that, ahhhh!”

Your orgasm happened almost instantaneously, catching Ari by surprise. He choked on air, blinded, as your pussy tugged the cum out of his cock without warning.

“Muse… oh FUCK.”

He spilled inside you with a broken moan, forehead pressed to yours, his hips still rocking gently, like he didn’t want it to end. Like this was the only place he ever wanted to be.

You weaved your fingers through his hair and kissed his perfect mouth.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

You said the words over and over as the pleasure bonded you, body and soul.

Ari didn’t remember falling asleep. Only that he did it with you in his arms.

Paris never stopped. But tonight, the city could wait.

Because you were home. And home was with Ari.

—--

The next morning, Paris looked like a painting outside the window, and you were tangled in Ari’s sheets, sore and satisfied, your limbs boneless and your heart embarrassingly full.

He was still asleep beside you, hair a mess, mouth slightly parted, one hand flung lazily across the pillow you’d shared. You slipped out of bed slowly, wrapped in his white button down, and padded barefoot into the little kitchen.

Coffee brewed. Toast popped. You walked out to the balcony, took a bite, sipped your espresso, and scrolled through the chaos of your tagged photos from last night’s event.

You were tagged in numerous pics, photos of the exhibit, fashion crowd candids. The usual chaos.

But you were still thinking about the way Ari whispered “mine” against your skin last night.

So you turned the camera on him.

He was still asleep, arm flung across your pillow, sunlight catching the ridges of his bare back like marble. So fine. So utterly yours. And you were his. No more questions about it.

You snapped the photo. You paused and bit your lip. You thought about the discussion you and he had, a couple of weeks earlier, about posting another photo to hard launch the relationship. You opened Instagram, typed one word, and posted the photo to your timeline.

Claimed.

Posted. Ari tagged.

Hard launch, achieved.

—-

Ari’s phone buzzed somewhere beneath a pile of sheets. Then again. And again. With a groan, he fished it out, not even opening his eyes as he unlocked it.

IG notifications lit up the screen like paparazzi flash. DMs, tags, texts from people he didn’t even remember giving his number to.

Confused, he opened the app.

And there it was. Your post.

His body. Your intimacy now public. The caption, a single word that hit him like a shot to the chest.

Claimed.

He stared, breath knocked loose, then grinned like a man who’d been struck by lightning and liked it. You already owned him. Now the world knew it too.

Ari came up behind you on the balcony, pressed a kiss to your shoulder, and held up his phone with a raised brow.

“So. We’re official now?”

You took a sip of your espresso, wondering how he’d react, but hid it with a smirk.

“We’ve been official. The internet just caught up.”

Ari grinned like a man who had no plans of ever letting you go.

Then he kissed you. For a long, long time.

—------

You didn’t mean for it to go that viral.

By the time your driver dropped you at the Grand Palais for your second show, your name was trending, not for the Mugler gown or your gallery moment, but for that photo.

Your agent had texted twelve times.

Your stylist simply said: Iconic.

Your mother had replied with: Is this serious? Should I meet him?

And when you stepped out of the car, clad in couture, the paparazzi didn’t scream the name of the designer.

They screamed, “Is Ari Levinson your boyfriend?!”

You didn’t flinch. You just adjusted your sunglasses and walked.

Inside, makeup artists talked in whispers. Models stole glances. Some who probably dated him in the past. You tried to focus on fittings and lighting and the rhythm of the runway.

But your phone buzzed constantly. Vogue wanted a quote. Peach texted You broke the timeline.

But you just hought of how much you missed him, even though it had only been hours.

Until he texted.

Hope your feet are okay. You looked deadly in that cape. You killed them, sweetheart. All of them.

Your heart did this weird thing and you typed back fast.

They screamed because of the buzz. Because I belong to you. I can’t wait to come home. Even if it’s rented. Even if the toast’s burnt.

He replied instantly:

We’ll get fresh croissants in the morning. Just bring those thighs. Deal?

You didn’t mean to laugh aloud. But you did.

And everyone noticed.

—--

Meanwhile, Ari was supposed to be discussing sculpture installation timelines. Instead, he was fielding interview requests and dodging offers for reality appearances.

Even his assistant, usually unflappable, raised an eyebrow over the phone.

“Just warning you,” he said, “your inbox is… a lot. Vogue Paris wants a quote. GQ wants a bed shoot. With her. Quote, ‘the hard launch turned certified sex god.’”

“Jesus,” Ari breathed.

“Page Six has already run a story. And word is you’re going to be a soundbite on the Deuxmoi podcast.”

Ari pinched the bridge of his nose and grunted.

“Nothing changes, strictly business. No comment on my personal life.”

Ari closed the call and looked out of the window.

But he didn’t think about donors or deadlines. Or newfound infamy. He thought about you. In his shirt. On his balcony. That look in your eyes when you posted it.

It should have terrified him. Maybe once, it would have. Instead, he saved the photo to his favorites.

He’d never loved anyone like this. Never felt owned in a way that thrilled him. Still, he had work to do. Paris didn’t wait.

Later, at the opening of Form and Fracture, Ari moved through the crowd like nothing had changed. He toasted and smiled with wine in hand.

Until someone leaned in and asked, too curious:

“So… the post. She’s really your Muse?”

He didn’t even blink.

“She’s everything.”

—----

By afternoon Ari had fielded three interview requests, dodged two offers for reality show appearances and spent 45 minutes arguing with a Swiss collector who thought Disconnection was about him.

But at 1:03 PM, when his phone buzzed again, it wasn’t business.

Come get me. I’m two seconds from climbing out the window. I need ten minutes with you. Or five. Just enough to feel you.

He didn’t reply with words. Just came in a black car.

You slipped out of the side entrance. Hood up, walking fast. Ari pulled you into the car quickly and the partition went up.

Suddenly, you were alone with Ari.

You straddled him in the back seat before he could even say your name. Your lips crashed together. His hands found your thighs under your leather skirt and he kissed you breathless. But then you pulled back, suddenly fragile.

“Are you sure? Still down for this? All of this?”

“I want it all, Muse. Let them have the photo. They don’t get our souls.”

He kissed your temple.

“Let them guess,” he said against your lips.

“Let them think they know everything,” he whispered at your throat.

You laughed, relieved and dizzy. And kissed him harder.

“I want to keep you,” you whispered.

“You couldn’t lose me if you tried.”

His hips rolled into yours and your breath hitched.

“Not here,” you gasped. “Somewhere quiet.”

He told the driver to take you to the flat. Fast.

But you were already unzipping your jacket, already tugging his belt loose.

The car came to a stop and Ari threw you over his shoulder, holding up his pants with the other hand as he carried you into the apartment. The blow job you’d just given him in the car had made him singularly focused on giving you multiple orgasms, and your upside down laughter just spurred him on.

He didn’t care about the time. Didn’t care if you had fittings later or if the world thought he was some random art collector sleeping his way through fashion week.

He just wanted you to remember this, to remember you two together. He loved you like you were art. And when he finally slid into you, pressing you into the mattress and filling you inch by thick inch, he didn’t move.

Just held you there and watched your face

“Still want ten minutes?” he asked, voice rough, hips barely rocking.

“No,” you gasped. “I want all of you.”

So he gave it.

Again and again, until your cries turned to gasps, and gasps to sighs, and the only thing louder than the thunder of your bodies was the silence after.

Peace.

—----

Your last morning in Paris was unusually warm for October. You and Ari were tucked into a quiet corner of the terrace of the Café de Flore.

It was one of those rare still moments after a week of chaos with lots of afterparties, fittings, exhibits, and barely any sleep. But here, with Ari’s espresso half-drunk and your croissant mostly devoured, everything else had fallen away.

Until the bell above the café door jingled. You looked up and froze, the smile falling from your face.

You and Ari had already had the “who hurt you?” talk. His story had been honest and quiet: a high school sweetheart who followed him to college, then bailed when the baseball dream died with his shoulder injury.

Yours had been Ransom Drysdale, the Amherst ex. The one who made you think “serious” meant something for two years until he told you, carefully and cruelly, that his family wouldn’t accept “someone like you.”

You almost laughed. Of course he’d be in Paris. Of course he’d show up like a plot twist in a movie you thought you’d already finished watching.

He hadn’t changed much. That soft, prep-school arrogance still draped across his posture like a monogrammed scarf. He still looked like the kind of man who got away with things just because he could.

He looked around and his eyes went wide when he spotted you.

Ari looked up at your shift in energy and the change in your breath and followed your gaze.

“Shit” he said quietly,

When you’d told him who your ex was, Ari had recognized the name immediately. He’d sold the Thrombeys more than one piece of art.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “I’m good.”

Ari watched you carefully and decided to believe you.

Ransom sauntered over, one hand holding a bag full of food, and one in his coat pocket.

“Well, damn,” he said with that same cocky grin.

“Didn’t expect to see you outside of a campaign spread.”

You raised a brow. “Paris gets small during Fashion Week.”

“Yeah,” he said, glancing at Ari. “Seems like you upgraded. Curator, right? I saw the Basel feature. Very… brooding chic.”

Ari didn’t so much as blink, but you felt the weight of his palm steady on your thigh.

You leaned forward, syrupy sweet.

“Still collecting degrees you don’t use?”

Ransom chuckled.

“Touché. You always had that mouth. And what a mouth it is.”

Your jaw flexed. You were about to say something you’d regret when Ari squeezed your leg.

Ransom seemed to remember himself. He glanced at Ari with what might’ve been an apology and back to you with something that wasn’t quite regret.

“Anyway. Glad to see you finally settled down. You were… restless after we ended.”

You almost laughed. You weren’t "restless" until he broke your heart. But you didn’t rise to it.

Instead, you looked at Ari. Not checking for his reaction, just anchoring in the calm he always gave you. He looked back at you like you were the only person in Paris that mattered.

You turned to Ransom.

“I wasn’t restless. I just hadn’t found someone who could match me.”

He paused. Then gave a sheepish shrug.

“You and me were bad timing. We were dumb. You wanted a romance novel. I wanted… not to get disowned.”

It was the closest to an apology you’d ever get. Maybe the closest he was capable of.

Ari set down his cup a little more forcefully than necessary. Ransom clocked it.

“Relax, man. I’m not here to stir up ancient drama. I’ve got a family now.”

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone. A couple of taps, and he turned the screen toward you.

A photo of a gorgeous woman with warm-eyes. And beside her, two small girls, one maybe three years old, the other still a baby, smiling wide in matching dresses.

“My wife, Minx. Those are our girls, Golden and Elodie. They’re my world.”

You blinked and tried to process the information. Ari nodded slowly as you closed your slightly parted mouth.

“They’re beautiful,” you said.

“I know,” Ransom replied with a proud grin.

“Anyway, they’re waiting upstairs. Just grabbing breakfast. Don’t want to face three hangry women empty-handed.”

“I’m happy for you,” you managed.

And maybe it was true. In the distant, abstract way you could be happy for someone who no longer had the power to hurt you.

Ransom looked at you for a second longer than he should’ve.

“You look good,” he said softly. “I’m glad you got what you deserved.”

You held his gaze. “I did.”

He nodded, gave Ari a respectful incline of his head, and turned disappeared into the crowd.

The moment he left, you let out a long, quiet breath. Ari didn’t speak right away. He just slid his fingers into yours.

“Handled that like a runway queen,” he murmured.

You laughed, tension breaking.

“I wanted to throw my cappuccino at him.”

Ari shrugged. “I just wanted to punch him once. That’s all.”

You laughed. “I love you so much.”

“So You’re not restless anymore?” he teased.

You smiled. “Only for you.”

“I love you too, Muse.” Ari’s voice dropped. “He might’ve had a version of you. But he never had you.”

Your eyes stung, just a little. “And you do?”

Ari kissed your knuckles, one by one.

“I do. And I’m not letting go.”

And maybe later, you’d talk about what it meant, that his wife looked just a little like you, that he’d married a version of the future he’d once denied. Or maybe, you’d enjoy your last afternoon in Paris and think about what came next.

And that didn’t involve Ransom Drysdale at all.

—------

Back in New York, everything felt louder. Sharper. It was going to be a busy season ahead. The buzz from Paris followed you home and tour bookings doubled. Your inbox was chaos. Everyone wanted a piece of you.

But you were greedy, too.

You wanted the silence between sunrise and coffee. You wanted Ari’s bare chest under your cheek while he read the paper. You wanted the slow, quiet minutes that didn’t make headlines or social feeds.

So you gave him your spare key.

“Here,” you said, tossing it to him like it was nothing. “So you don’t have to buzz every time.”

He caught it easily, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Then he turned, slid open the drawer by the sink, dropped the key inside, and looked up at you with that steady, devastating gaze that always seemed to knock the wind out of you.

“Or,” he said, looking up, “we just have one set.”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

“One set of keys. One home. Yours. Mine. Ours. Move in.”

“Wait. You’re serious?”

Ari tilted his head like he couldn’t understand your confusion.

“You’re here more than you’re not. There’s a half-eaten container of kimchi in my fridge I’ve never touched. I’ve memorized your shampoo scent. And my super thinks I’m dating a model who moonlights as a cat burglar. So, yeah. I’m serious.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again. You couldn’t seem to find words.

“That’s... fast.”

“Not really.”

“It feels fast.”

You took a shaky breath. “We were just in Paris.”

“And now we’re in New York.”

“That’s the point. Paris wasn’t real.”

Ari’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t raise his voice.

“We’re in it. We’ve been in it. I thought we were past the pretending part.”

Your chest twisted. Not because you didn’t love him; you did. That was the problem. You loved him so much it scared the hell out of you.

“It’s not pretending,” you said quietly. “It’s pacing.”

He let out a short breath.

“You stood in front of a sea of paparazzi in Paris. Faced down your asshole of an ex in couture and heels. And now you’re scared of a lease?”

“It’s not about a lease,” you snapped, sharper than you intended.

“It’s about space. About not rushing into something just because Paris felt like a fairytale.”

“This isn’t about Paris,” he said, voice tightening. “This is real life. I’m not asking you to marry me. I’m asking you to stay.”

That’s what broke you. Because it wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t flashy. It was simple and sincere. And still, you pulled away.

“I need time,” you said. “I just got home. I need to be home.”

Ari stepped back like you’d slapped him.

“I’m not going to beg you to stay,” he said, jaw tight. “But I thought we were building something.”

“We are.” Your voice cracked. “I just... I need to breathe.”

So you left.

You grabbed your bag, shoved on your sunglasses, and walked out before the tears could fall. It felt too familiar.

To both of you.

—

You were home twenty minutes before the knock came.

You didn’t open it. And he didn’t use the key you’d just given him. He wanted you to let him in.

He knocked again. “I’m not leaving.”

You pressed your forehead against the door. “I just need space.”

“I’ll sit on this floor all night if I have to.”

You cracked the door open, just a sliver.

“Why can’t you just let it go?”

Ari’s eyes were soft. And tired. But he was not giving up.

“Because this is what people do when it’s real. They fight. They figure it out. They don’t run the first time it stops being easy.”

You opened the door wider.

“I wasn’t running,” you said. “I was scared. There’s a difference.”

“Then let me stand with you in the fear.”

That stopped you cold. And he stepped in. Slowly. Like approaching a wounded animal.

You didn’t back away.

He closed the door behind him.

“I don’t care if you need a drawer. Or two apartments. Or a thousand feet of emotional buffer zone. But I’m not walking away because you got scared. I choose you. Every day. Even on the hard ones.”

You looked up at him, tears hot behind your eyes.

“I don’t want to ruin this,” you whispered.

“You won’t,” he said. “Unless you keep shutting me out.”

“I want to want it. I’m just not there yet.”

He nodded. “Okay. Then we wait.”

“You’d wait?”

He smiled, a little broken.

“For you? I’d wait forever. But I’m hoping it doesn’t take that long.”

You laughed through the tears. And then he stepped forward, pulled you into him, and held you close to him.

Because that’s what love was, after all. Not perfect timing, or instant ease. But showing up, even when it hurts. Even when it’s hard. And staying anyway.

—-

Weeks passed. You still kept your apartment, but most mornings you woke up tangled in Ari’s sheets. He never brought up moving in again; he didn’t need to.

Your toothbrush appeared next to his. Your oat milk showed up in his fridge. Your heels collected by the door, not because you left them, but because that’s where you kicked them off.

He didn’t push; he just made space. And something in you softened.

One night, you were curled up on the couch, legs tangled, the city glowing beyond the windows.

He was reading a gallery proposal, and you were half-asleep, thumb lazily tracing the line of his ribs under his shirt.

You said it before you meant to.

“I brought more hangers.”

He looked up, one brow raised. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “And my skincare fridge.”

A beat. Then a smile.

“So,” he said, “This mean I can toss the expired sesame oil in the back of the fridge to make room?”

You laughed, curling closer.

“Only if I get the big dresser drawer.”

He closed the file in his lap and pulled you into his chest.

“You can have the whole dresser,” he murmured. “The whole damn closet if you want it.”

You were quiet for a moment. Then you whispered: “I think I’m ready.”

He didn’t gloat. Just kissed your temple. “Good.”

You packed slowly. Left the lease open “just in case,” but you both knew.

Your name was on the buzzer now.

—--

The shift happened quietly. And then not so quietly.

It was a couple months later.

Ari was barefoot in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, stirring a sauce Bucky had taught him how to make. You were folding laundry on the living room rug, and humming under your breath. Everything was peaceful.

Until he said it like he was talking about the weather.

“Did you know Ransom has a third on the way?”

You blinked and looked up.

“What?”

He turned to lean against the counter, spoon still in hand.

“Saw it on Instagram. His wife posted the ultrasound. Said it was an accident but a ‘happy one.’”

You let out a breathy laugh.

“Three? God. I can’t even keep a houseplant alive.”

Ari gave you a long look.

“You’d be a good mom.”

You froze mid-fold.

“Where’s that coming from?”

“I think about it sometimes,” he said, shrugging. “Not now. But someday.”

You tossed a pair of socks at him. “Insane.”

He turned off the pot and walked over, crouching behind you, and kissing the back of your neck. His arms wrapped around your waist, hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing slowly over your nipples through the thin fabric.

“I think about you,” he whispered, “round with my kid. Your tits swollen. Waddling through this apartment cursing me out because I knocked you up.”

“I’m on birth control,” you mentioned, even though you weren’t objecting. Not really.

“I know.” His hands tightened.

“Only reason I haven’t bred you already.”

Your eyes flew wide. “Ari…”

“It would be so fucking hot,” he breathed, forehead resting against yours. “You, spread out in our bed, pregnant with me. Heavy and needy. Letting me take care of you. Letting me keep you full.”

You whimpered, climbing into his lap without thinking, your body already aching for him. His hands slid under your sweatshirt, thumbs brushing the soft curve of your hips.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “You really do have a breeding kink.”

His grin was wicked. “Only with you.”

Your mouths crashed together like you’d been starving.

“You wanna breed me?” you spoke against his lips, already grinding into him. “Put a baby in me just because you can?”

His grip tightened, his voice ragged.

“One day, yeah. One day you're gonna be full of me,” he said, voice pure sin. “I’m gonna stuff you so deep you feel it for days.”

You nodded, almost dizzy. “God, Ari…”

“Not today,” he said it like a promise.

“But I want you to think about it.”

His hand slid down, pushed into your sweats, and found how soaked you already were.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re already ready. Just from talking about it.”

You pulled apart to take off your pants only to come back together like magnets.

“That’s because I want you to breed me,” you whispered, half-wild, your breath hot on his neck.

“One day. Fucking ruin me.”

“You know I will.”

He buried himself inside you with a deep, dragging thrust.

“Not today. But someday. You’ll be so full of me, baby.”

He fucked you slowly, thrusting deep, and talking you through it. He painted pictures in your head you couldn’t unsee.

“You feel that?” he breathed. “That’s how I’d put a baby in you. Not a drop wasted.”

You cried out, your nails digging into his back.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Say you want it.”

“I want it,” you gasped. “God, I want all of it. You. Everything.”

He groaned like it gutted him. His thrusts were deep, dragging sounds from your throat you didn’t know you could make. He didn’t stop until you were trembling around him and sobbing his name.

Afterward, limbs tangled and his warm cum leaking from you, he kissed your forehead.

“I love you,” he murmured.

You looked up, still breathless.

“If you ever actually try to knock me up...”

He raised a brow. “You’ll what?”

You smirked. “You’ll have to marry me first.”

His grin spread slow and wide. “Deal.”

And you knew he meant it.

-----

Ugh! Can’t believe its the last one.

There will be one more, an epilogue next week. 🥹

Read Muse: Epilogue

#muse mondays #ari levinson au #ari levinson #ari levison x reader #ari levinson x plus size!reader #ari levinson x model!reader #ari levinson smut #ari levinson x you #chris evans #ari levinson angst #ransom drysdale #chris evans characters #x reader

123 notes · View notes

odessa-2 · 1 month ago

Text

Anyone else notice the strange background detail??

What's going on here? Where is this? Two framed pictures from Landcon Paris of both Sam and Caitriona posing with a fan. Caitriona's photo is from just a few weeks ago in Paris and is already framed. And the photo above that Cait/fan pic also appears to be of Caitriona as we can see a glimpse of her light coloured denim jeans. Then there is a print of the Eiffel Tower with the Sassenach Whisky in the foreground 🤔

Does anyone want to wager a guess as to what may be going on? It looks like office space somewhere. Is Sam dropping crumbs again?

114 notes · View notes

golden-cherry · 2 years ago

Text

deal - cl16 (17/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: That's definitely not the goodbye you wanted.

Warnings: angst, jealousy, swear words

Word Count: 3.3k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: sorry for this shitty chapter and sorry for keeping you waiting! feedback is appreciated! love ya.

It's not long before Charles falls asleep next to you.

You hear his soft breathing, the way the bedspread rustles as he slides his arm under the pillow and bends his right knee. Apparently he's lying on his stomach, snuggled tightly in the warmth of the bed you'll share for the second and last time.

That Charles has grown so close to your heart in exactly three days is something you would never have thought was possible in your life.

After Raphael cheated on you and your friends let you down, you vowed to take better care of yourself and your heart and never let anyone into your life so easily again. You resigned yourself to the fact that you would spend the next time alone until you could put your trust in someone again. And that had been perfectly fine with you, as long as it had kept further pain at bay.

But the brunette Monegasque, without making any particular effort, has walked into your life as if God personally had opened the gates for him, and has taken up residence with you as if he were a virus that is taking you over completely.

You turn away from him, but you can still feel the warmth of his body through the many layers of fabric that lie between you.

The fact that he will spend the next few days in Italy is a good start to building the wall that will keep your heart from great harm. It will create some distance between you, buy you more time in which to figure out your feelings. And if it really comes down to you feeling more than simple friendship for your roommate, you'll still have plenty of time to think of some way to handle the situation.

You're about to press your face into your pillow so it can stop the whirlwind of thoughts in your head when your cell phone lights up.

Lando: Did you know that the Eiffel Tower is about six inches taller in the summer than in the winter?

Confused, but grinning, you glance at the screen. It's the middle of the night - why is he sending you such a strange message at this late hour?

You cast a glance over your shoulder to make sure Charles is actually asleep before releasing the key lock, lowering your phone's brightness to its lowest setting, and starting to type.

You: Didn't know that. Why is that?

The "seen" with the little checkmark appears directly under your sent message, and a few moments later the typical three dots that appear when a reply is composed flash.

Lando: Due to thermal expansion, meaning the iron heats up, the particles gain kinetic energy and take up more space.

You have to smile, even suppress a giggle.

You: You googled that for sure.

Lando: You got me. I didn't know the best way to start a conversation.

You: I'd say the middle of the night is generally not a good time to start a conversation. What if I had already been asleep?

Lando: Then you would have woken up confused for sure and blocked me right after the message.

You: Then you're lucky I'm still awake.

Lando: I'm definitely lucky.

Behind you, Charles moves a little, but doesn't seem to wake up. You feel him scoot a tiny bit closer to you, as if he realizes you're still awake.

Lando: Have you ever been to Paris?

You: Unfortunately not. I'd like to go there sometime, though. And you?

Lando: I've been there before. Maybe we can go there together? Then I can show you the most beautiful places.

You have to grin. Straightforward guy he is.

You: Do you really think I would just travel to Paris with a semi stranger?

Lando: You're right about that. But that can easily be changed. You and me, tomorrow, dinner at 8?

You feel Charles rest his hand on your bedspread. It's like he subconsciously realizes you're about to go out with one of his friends. He exhales deeply, but doesn't move any further.

You: That was very smooth, Mr. Norris.

Lando: So is that a yes?

Without giving it much thought, you answer the Brit with a "Yes, I'd love to," whereupon he responds with a "Great. I'll get back to you tomorrow. Don't stay up too late and sleep well" back. You press the key lock on your phone and put it back next to your pillow.

Time you do have. Charles isn't around, and you don't have a job to go to every day, so your days are as free as the beach in winter. And for sure it will do you good to spend time with someone other than the Monegasque. Lando is nice and friendly and funny. And since the two of you don't live together, and the level at which you're getting to know each other is much more superficial than the one Charles and you are on right now, you shouldn't be in danger of taking him to your heart as quickly as your roommate.

Who by now has moved so close to you that you can feel his warm breath on the back of your neck. It's steady, coming in waves and brushing your skin like a warm summer breeze. For sure he is sleeping well, maybe even having a nice dream. He doesn't even know yet that it's the last time he'll sleep next to you.

You close your eyes, almost press your eyelids together and force yourself to fall asleep. With the ulterior motive that the person who is dearest to you right now is exactly the one with whom you will soon have to keep the most distance.

Something rustles.

The sound is close, but not so close that it could find its origin right next to your ear. It also sounds muffled, as if there is a thick piece of soft cotton between the sound and your eardrum, so you can't really hear what exactly is making that sound.

You press your face a little deeper into the pillow.

The rustling becomes louder.

Tired and with your eyes closed, you pull the blanket higher to your chin to cling to sleep. And for a brief moment it works, your mind slips back into a gentle slumber - until you hear a loud, unmistakable rumble.

Annoyed and above all confused, you open your eyes. Your cell phone reads 6:15 a.m. Who's making that kind of noise at this hour?

You sit up abruptly, as if you've been electrocuted, and the covers fall into your lap. Charles.

For sure he is packing up the last things before he wants to wake you up. To say goodbye to you. You're surprised you didn't hear his alarm clock. For sure he only rang it once briefly before your roommate turned it off so it wouldn't wake you up. Very kind and considerate.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed and slip into fuzzy socks so your feet don't freeze. As you tie your hair so it doesn't look like you've touched an electrical socket, you hear keys jingle.

Charles wouldn't leave without saying goodbye to you, would he?

Hesitantly, you go to the door of the room and open it slowly to make sure he's still there. And indeed, he hasn't left the apartment yet.

But he has shouldered his travel bag, his feet are in shoes, and the apartment door is open, as if he is about to take the first step out. When he hears you, he turns around.

Confused and still slightly sleepy, you stand in the doorway. You point your finger at the large bag. "Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?" you ask him, rubbing the heels of your hands over your eyes. Damn, it's definitely too early to be awake.

Your roommate steps unsteadily from one foot to the other. "I didn't mean to wake you." In his free hand, he holds his key.

You screw up your face. "But you wanted to say goodbye." You cross your arms in front of your chest. "You said you'd set an alarm so you could get up on time and we could say goodbye properly."

The situation is strange. You're standing in the doorway to the room where Charles shared a bed with you, as he stands on the threshold that separates this apartment from the rest of the world. It feels like he's trying to escape from what's happening inside these four walls. Like he can't wait to leave and leave you here.

He doesn't even want to say goodbye to you.

"I know, but-" he begins, but doesn't seem to know how to finish the sentence, which is why he just falls silent. His gaze wanders from your face to the room behind you before he lowers it to his shoes. He swallows once before looking at you again. "Can we talk about this another time?" he asks quietly. "I have to go."

What happened in the last few hours you were asleep? Did you do something to make him want to run away from here? To want to flee from you? The way he's standing there, he seems like he can't wait to finally leave the apartment. As if he had to quickly put as many kilometers as possible between you.

The fact that he doesn't want to talk to you about it unsettles you more than you'd like to admit.

When you were with Raphael, there were many arguments, after which you both went to bed without clearing up the situation or talking things out. That oppressive, stomach-churning feeling was so devastating and caused such nausea in you that you told yourself that you will never again let an argument or difficult situation just stand.

You don't want to go to bed angry. And you don't want anyone to go to bed angry and mad at you either.

"Did I do something?" you ask, letting your arms, which were crossed just a moment ago, fall to your sides. As a sign that you're ready to face whatever may follow. "Talk to me, please, Charles."

Of course, neither of you would go to sleep now. But the very thought that you won't see each other again for another four days, and thus parting, leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. Which you naturally want to get rid of as quickly as possible.

Demonstratively, he glances at his wristwatch. "I don't have time. Let's talk about it another time."

"It's 6:25. I thought you didn't have to leave until 7?"

He clenches his teeth. "I want to drive now." He's visibly tense, his hand almost tightening around the key. Charles doesn't want to drive. He wants to run. From you. And you don't know why.

Somewhere inside you, a small crack is opening up, uncomfortable, pressing on the pit of your stomach. Your discomfort worsens with each passing moment.

"What have I done?" you try again to get him to talk. You cross the room until you're standing in front of him. "Whatever it was - I'm sorry. I don't know what it is that I could have done that upset you so much. But I don't want you to leave now and be mad at me when we won't see each other again for another four days. Let's talk about it. Please."

It's almost pathetic how desperate you sound. Your voice trembles like it's going to break at any moment, and you can feel tears gathering in your eyes. You try to blink them away.

There have been countless situations like this with Raphael. It was always you who wanted to solve an argument. The one who tried harder. Who sacrificed more. And it has brought nothing.

Even though you two have only known each other for a few days, this argument is much worse. Because you don't know what you have done, and therefore you can't change anything. You can't find a solution here.

Charles doesn't seem to care that you are on the verge of crying. His gaze is hard and cold as he looks down at you. He looks at you as if you were a stranger just standing in his apartment.

As you reach out to him, he takes the last step over the threshold. The small crack inside you grows larger, now seems to have reached your heart, forming a great chasm. The wall that has been built so far has been of no use. It is completely useless.

"If you really want to talk to someone, why don't you talk to Lando?" His tone is icy and his gaze sprays venom.

Lando?

Charles seems to have picked up on your confused look. Annoyed, he rolls his eyes, which stings you further. "Now don't act like that. He texted me in the middle of the night asking what culinary cuisine you prefer for your dinner tonight." He raises an eyebrow. "And here I thought you'd already had an extensive conversation about it. What was it again? Canned soup and BigMac?"

Your discomfort gives way to an even more rotten feeling. Anger spreads through you like a wildfire you can't stop it. How dare he?

"What are you trying to say?" you ask calmly, even though everything is burning inside you. Charles interfering in this matter when he has no right to do so makes your anger spill over, but you know better than to take it out on him directly. You pull yourself together. Even though you'd like to strangle him, you don't want you two to fight.

"Come on, Y/N." His smile is spiteful and ugly - even though he's the most beautiful man on the planet. "We both know he's just trying to fuck you. So what's the point of dinner? It's just a waste of money."

Excuse me?

"What do you mean?"

He seems to think for a moment, as if he were struggling with himself to say the next words. "After all, what Raphael did to you doesn't seem to bother you much if you're going to date someone new right away. And you said yourself yesterday that you weren't going to meet anyone on this couch." He extends his free arm and waves it in a semicircle in front of him. "Let's do it, then. Monaco is full of rich men. Then you don't exactly have to hook up with one who's my friend."

Never in your entire life have you wanted to smack someone so badly as Charles at this moment.

He knows what Raphael did to you. And he also knows why your ex cheated on you. The fact that he now assumes that you would just jump into bed with Lando like that upsets you so much that you're at a loss for words.

You don't recognize him. The Charles who lets you stay with him for free, who makes you laugh, and who is so close to you at times that you have to consider how to protect your heart, has dropped off the face of the earth.

Opposite you is a mean and ruthless man you can't get away from fast enough. His words hit you harder than any blow could, and the tears in your eyes no longer originate in discomfort, but in pure rage.

You don't care what you did to make him act this way. You don't care what exactly happened between you that caused this argument to degenerate like this. And you don't care if you go to bed tonight mad at him.

This argument is different than the one over his phone call with Raphael or the one at dinner with his friends. It's too close, too personal, and for Charles to think of you that way, after everything you've told him about yourself, chokes your throat and makes your heart shatter into a thousand pieces.

"You can have the apartment," you say emotionlessly. Your fire is extinguished, your anger is suffocated. The only thing left is a dull feeling of grief.

How could you think Charles would be any different? That he would actually be a friend to you? You even showed him your favorite place. That wasn't even twelve hours ago.

"When you come back, I'll be gone." Your gaze is fixed on Charles, letting him know how serious you are. Something flashes in his eyes, but whatever it is - you don't care. "I hate you."

Without waiting for an answer, you close the apartment door. As you turn around, you feel like an intruder in your own home.

Which, theoretically, isn't even your home. It's Charles' home, it's his apartment. He's just been nice and let you stay with him. And he didn't do that because he saw a friend in you, but because he felt sorry for you, as you must now realize.

Did this "good deed" make him feel better? Did he let you stay here to prove to himself what a good guy he is after everything with Annika? Is he really that selfish?

Who exactly is Charles Leclerc?

You would like to leave the apartment immediately, because there is nothing that doesn't make you remember Charles. The couch reminds you of the evening when you drank wine and watched Cars. The kitchen table is where you eat pain au chocolat and croissants. The bathroom is where you grin at each other in the mirror as you brush your teeth. Charles is everywhere.

He's especially in the dark bedroom, too, when you return to lie down in bed. His sheets are still where you found them when you woke up, and his smell is all over the room, making it hard for you to breathe.

Pulling your own blanket up to your chin, you lie there staring at the ceiling, racking your brain as to where exactly you took a wrong turn. But for the life of you, you can't think of anything.

You turn on your side and take a deep breath. Charles' smell hits your nose and only now, surrounded by darkness and silence, do you allow yourself to cry. Tears roll down your skin and one sob after another escapes your sore throat, which feels as if it has been laced shut. Your body shakes like it's electrified and somewhere inside you think your heart has stopped beating.

The person you trusted the most has let you down. Your closest friend has dropped you without explaining himself to you.

But that's not what hurts so indescribably.

It hurts so much because it's Charles. The Charles you saw as your best friend after only a few days. The Charles who didn't judge you.

You slide to the other side of the bed and slip under Charles' covers so that you are now completely enveloped in his smell. You feel so close to him, even though he's so far away, and even though the warmth feels like a hug, you feel lonely. You cling to that hug that isn't a hug, because that's the closest thing you have left of him.

Tomorrow you would look for another apartment, maybe even move away from Monaco. And then you would pack your things and leave, just like you promised Charles. And you wouldn't break that promise - that deal, the way he broke his.

Not long ago, you didn't want to share the bed with him anymore, braced yourself for it to be the last time you'd be this close. You wanted to build the wall that would protect, should protect your heart.

But it's no use building a wall when your heart hasn't been yours for a while.

next part

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #carlos sainz jr #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc headcanon #lando norris #Charles Leclerc fluff #Charles Leclerc angst

1K notes · View notes