luna

satoru: heard you landed. don’t think you can sneak back without seeing us.

you smile before you can help it.

you: give me 48 hours to unpack.

satoru: 24. final offer. suguru already said yes and he’s the reasonable one so you have no excuse.

the bar is the same one from high school. nicer now, or maybe you just notice different things.

you get there first. order something you don't really want just to have something to do with your hands. you haven't seen them in four years and you are, embarrassingly, nervous.

you see gojo before he sees you.

he fills the doorway differently than he used to. broader. sharper. all that restless energy finally somewhere to live. he's got dark glasses on even though it's night, which is so deeply, specifically him that something in your chest cracks open a little.

then he finds you across the room and grins widely, like you're the answer to whatever he’s been searching. he crosses to you in four strides.

“you look—”

“don't.”

“good,” he finishes, and pulls you into a hug before you can stop him. lifts you slightly off the ground. he smells expensive and feels exactly the same and you hold on for a second longer than you mean to.

“you cut your hair,” you say when he sets you down.

“you noticed.” insufferably pleased.

"it's very short, satoru."

“and yet it works.” he tilts his head, running a hand over his hair. “you do look really good by the way. i’m allowed to say that right?”

you push him by the face. he laughs, catching your wrist loosely before letting go.

geto is a half step behind him. quieter. always has been.

but you almost don't recognise him and that's what gets you. you've had his face memorised since you were fifteen, every version of it, and still.

his hair is down now, long enough to be pulled back into a bun, long bangs brushing his jaw, dark against his skin.

he looks at you and doesn't say anything for a moment.

then he steps forward and hugs you properly. both arms. his chin near your temple, and you feel him breathe out slowly, a breath of relief perhaps.

“missed you,” he says. quiet enough that it's only for you.

your throat does something complicated. “missed you too.”

you sit. gojo immediately begins talking and doesn't stop for the better part of an hour. geto listens with the expression of a man who made his peace with this long ago. you watch them both, the easy way they exist together, the shorthand, the years of it, and feel something settle and ache in your chest at the same time.

oh, you think.

this is going to be a problem.

the bar becomes a regular thing after that. or maybe it's not the bar specifically, just the three of you, falling back into orbit like muscle memory.

gojo texts you constantly. voice notes when he's too lazy to type, long and wandering, about nothing and everything. you find yourself smiling at your phone on the train, in the middle of cooking, lying in the dark before you fall asleep.

geto texts less. but when he does you always stop what you're doing.

you seemed quiet tonight. you okay?

a photo, no caption. a gift store window, cow plushies lined up behind the glass. the one you'd pointed at absently walking past three days ago. you hadn't thought he'd noticed.

you stare at it for a long time.

this is fine, you tell yourself. this is just how they are. gojo has always been too much and geto has always been exactly enough and you have always fit somewhere in the middle. this is not new. this is just old feelings shaking the dust off.

this is fine.

it is not fine.

by the end of the first week gojo has taken you to two restaurants, a film you both talked through entirely, and a convenience store at midnight because he wanted company and you were the first person he thought to call.

geto shows up to the midnight convenience store fifteen minutes after gojo texts him. hair loose, jacket thrown over what are definitely pajamas. he slides into the plastic chair across from you and picks up a pair of chopsticks without a word.

“you actually came,” gojo huffs, smiling at him.

“you said midnight ramen.” geto breaks his chopsticks apart. “of course i came.” the corners of his lips tilt up.

then he glances at you across the table. just for a second.

you look down at your noodles.

it's the small things that undo you.

gojo always puts himself between you and the road when you're walking without seeming to think about it. geto remembers without being told, without ever being asked, that you don't like the overhead lights too bright, and dims them every time you come over. they both reach for you in small ways and sometimes catch each other doing it and say nothing.

you catch geto watching gojo one night. gojo is being loud about something, arms wide, grinning, completely himself. and geto is just looking at him fondly. this private, unguarded thing on his face that he doesn't know anyone can see.

then he turns and catches you watching.

neither of you say anything.

the ache in your chest gets worse.

the fourth saturday of your return, it finally happens.

geto's apartment. late afternoon going gold through the windows. gojo had arrived first with a wine bottle he swore was good. you'd come an hour later with snacks.

now it's late. the wine is mostly gone. the three of you have migrated to the couch, you in the middle, gojo boneless against one armrest, geto's shoulder warm and solid against yours. the city hums somewhere outside.

no one is talking.

gojo stares at the ceiling for a long moment.

“okay,” he says. “i can't keep doing this.”

geto goes very still beside you.

“doing what,” you say, carefully.

gojo sits up. puts his feet on the floor. turns to look at you with that expression, the serious one, the one under all the performance, just him.

“i've been in love with you since we were seventeen,” he says. “i should've told you before you left. i didn't. i'm telling you now.”

the room is very quiet.

you turn to geto.

his jaw is tight. he's looking at his hands. and then he looks up at you, and everything he keeps so carefully below the surface wants to come out.

“sixteen,” he says quietly. “for me.”

gojo makes a low sound. “of course you have a year on me.”

“this isn't a competition.”

“everything is a competition.”

“boys,” you say.

they both go quiet.

you look between them. this impossible thing the three of you have been circling for years, finally sitting out in the open.

“i know,” you say. “i've known for a while.” you let out a shaky breath.

“and i don't want to choose. i don't think i can. and i think—“ you look between them.

“i think you both already know that's not the only way this works.”

silence.

gojo looks across you at geto. something passes between them, years of it.

geto looks back. then at you.

“no,” he says quietly. “it's not the only way.”

gojo kisses you first because he cannot help himself. has never been able to help himself when it comes to you.

he cups your face in both hands and tilts your mouth up to his, it’s warm and his lips are soft and then not soft, his thumbs pressing gently into your cheeks. you feel him breathe out through his nose like he's been holding it for years. your hand fists in his shirt.

he pulls back just far enough to look at you. pupils blown, mouth a little swollen.

“hi,” he says, stupidly fond.

“hi,” you breathe.

then geto's fingers find your chin and he turns you toward him. he kisses you the way he does everything. unhurried, thorough, one hand cradling your jaw like something to be held carefully. his mouth moves slower over yours, tasting, and learning. you make a small sound against him and his other hand finds your waist and pulls you closer.

when he breaks it his forehead drops to yours. both of you breathing.

“okay,” gojo says from beside you, a little rough. “okay. that's… yeah. okay.”

you pull back and look at him. he's watching the two of you with an expression that's complicated and hungry and something else underneath it, something that makes your chest tighten.

you look between them both.

“go on then,” you say softly.

gojo blinks. “what.”

you raise an eyebrow.

geto makes a quiet sound, almost a laugh, and reaches across you. his hand curling around the back of gojo's neck, pulling him in.

gojo goes still for exactly one second.

and then he doesn't.

his hand comes up to grip geto's collar and they kiss like an argument has been finally resolved. like something that's been building so long underneath everything else, it had nowhere left to go. geto kisses him patiently and gojo kisses back desperately, and you watch with a soft smile, feeling something enormous settle warm in your chest.

they break apart. gojo laughs, a little unsteady. geto's thumb sweeps once along his bottom lip before dropping.

they both turn to look at you.

and then it's all three of you, hands and mouths and the soft sounds of the apartment around you. gojo pulls you into his lap, mouth finding your throat, your jaw, your lips again. geto's hand slides into your hair, tilting your head back so he can mouth at the curve of your neck, like he has been waiting so long, that a few more minutes means nothing.

“been thinking about this,” gojo murmurs against your mouth. “an embarrassingly long time.”

“we know,” geto teases, and you three share a laugh.

geto’s hands find the hem of your top. he pauses, watching your face. you nod and lift your arms.

but gojo pulls back before he can. he looks between you and geto with dark eyes.

“come here,” he says, to both of you.

gojo kisses you first, lips parted. then geto’s lips find the corner of yours and you turn toward him instinctively, and then somehow it’s all three of you at once, tongues sliding and breath mixing, finding the angle together like you’ve done it before. like you were always going to end up here.

it's wet and it's filthy and none of you pull away.

geto's hand cups your jaw, tilting you how he wants you, and gojo follows his lead without a word, tongues tangling until you can't tell whose mouth is whose, spit slicked and shameless, whining into each other’s mouth.

gojo makes a low sound against your lips. geto pulls back just slightly, forehead dropping to yours, and you all stay there for a moment. heavy breathing, lips wet, the whole room feeling smaller and warmer than it did an hour ago.

“okay,” gojo says again. his voice has dropped an octave. “okay”.

geto finally pulls your top over your head.

gojo's eyes drag down you slowly.

“god,” he says with a groan. like it hurts to look at you like this.

geto's mouth drops to your shoulder. your collarbone. moving down with that same devastating patience while gojo tips your chin up and kisses you again, softer this time, his hands sliding down your sides like he's learning you.

geto pulls back and looks at gojo over your head. something passes between them, wordlessly.

“go on,” geto says quietly.

gojo doesn't need to be told twice.

he lays you back against the couch, settling over you, and takes his time working down your body. mouth at your throat, your chest, hands learning the shape of you like he's been thinking about the order of this for a long time. maybe he has.

by the time his fingers hook into your waistband you're already embarrassingly wet.

he looks up at you from between your thighs. that grin, softer now, more genuine than usual.

“hi,” he says again.

“satoru i swear to god—“

he licks a slow stripe and your head falls back against the armrest.

he takes that as encouragement.

his tongue finds the right spot with an ease that should be annoying and your hips jerk up involuntarily, a sharp gasp pulling out of you before you can swallow it. his hands press your thighs apart, keeping you open, and he does it again. then again. he’s focused, learning what makes your breath catch.

then he slides a finger in.

“oh—” the sound tears out of you. “oh god—“

he curls it. just slightly.

your back arches clean off the couch.

he hums against you, satisfied, and does it again, tongue working in tandem, and your hand flies to his hair, needing something to hold onto.

it's overwhelming. it's too much. you turn your head to the side on a broken exhale and find geto.

he's sitting back against the opposite end of the couch, watching you. shirt gone. pants on the floor along with his boxers. one hand wrapped around himself, working slowly, and even from here you can see the flush of him, the slight darkened head where he's been teasing himself, wet at the tip. his jaw is tight. his eyes are completely black.

watching you come apart.

the feeling that rolls through you at the sight of him is something different entirely.

you reach out a hand. beckoning him closer.

his eyes drop to it. then back to your face.

he crosses the room, one hand still wrapped around himself, and stands over you. close enough that you can see everything. the slow drag of his fist, the flush of him, the pre at the tip. your mouth goes dry.

you push yourself up onto your elbows. one hand still twisted in gojo's hair, keeping him where he is. and he stays, tongue working, completely unbothered by the shift in your attention, maybe encouraged by it if the low sound he makes is anything to go by.

your other hand reaches up for geto.

your fingers wrap around his cock and he groans lowly. he's thick in your hand, heavier than you expected, and you feel your brain go a little sideways with it.

thicker than gojo, you think distantly. the thought alone makes heat curl low in your stomach.

you give him one slow stroke and his jaw tightens, eyes dropping to watch your hand.

gojo chooses that exact moment to curl his finger again and the moan that spills out of you is embarrassing and loud and you can’t bring yourself to care.

geto watches your face when it happens.

then he reaches down and tilts your chin up with two fingers. taps the head of his cock against your lips once. twice.

you open for him.

he slides into the warmth of your mouth, just the tip at first, and the sound he makes through is the most restrained undone thing you've ever heard. his hand moves to the back of your head, not pushing but resting. letting you set the pace.

you take more. deeper.

his jaw goes tight. “god.”

you hollow your cheeks and his fingers curl against your scalp. you can feel gojo watching from between your thighs, feel the way he slows just slightly, distracted, before picking back up with renewed focus like he has something to prove.

you’re not sure if your eyes water at the stretch of geto in your mouth. thick and warm and heavy on your tongue. or because of gojo’s unforgiving pace. his tongue persistent against your clit.

you look up at geto through your wet lashes.

that's what does it. his composure slips entirely, just for a second, head dropping back on a low moan that he doesn't quite manage to swallow.

“keep going,” geto says breathily.

gojo finds a rhythm that has you losing your mind entirely. two fingers now, curling with every stroke, tongue relentless, and you can feel it building fast and hot at the base of your spine.

your thighs begin to close around his head without your permission.

gojo makes a muffled sound against you that might be a laugh. his hands press your thighs back open, and then immediately your body betrays you again, legs clamping around him like you can pull him closer if you just try hard enough.

“sorry,” you gasp, not meaning it at all.

he hums. definitely laughing.

geto's hand tightens in your hair. he's close, you can feel it in the way his hips have started moving with you rather than waiting, restrained but not quite restrained enough. his breathing has gone uneven above you.

then gojo curls his fingers and murmurs "that's it" against you and two things happen at once.

you come apart completely.

and geto makes a sound above you like the words hit him somewhere he wasn't expecting.

your thighs lock around gojo's head, back arching off the cushions, a broken sound tearing out of your throat as you cum. your orgasm rolls through you long and overwhelming.

geto pulls free from your mouth on a sharp exhale, hand working fast, and then he's spilling hot across your stomach and chest with a loud groan, head bowed as he rides it out.

gojo surfaces from between your thighs slowly. his hair is completely wrecked. cheeks flushed. he looks at you for a moment, then at geto, then back at you, a wrecked look in his expression.

he wraps a hand around himself. his eyes stay on you as he works himself to the precipice. a low sound catching in his throat before he spills into his own fist with a quiet whimper, shoulders dropping as the tension finally leaves him.

his eyes drop to your stomach. geto's cum still striped warm across your skin.

he leans down and licks a stripe through geto’s cum on your stomach and your hips jerk at the sight of it. he looks up through his lashes, chin wet, entirely too pleased with himself.

you pull him up by the jaw and kiss him.

he makes a small surprised sound and then his hand finds your face and he kisses you properly, tasting of you and geto both. your hand curls into his hair.

then you feel geto shift behind you. his chin lifts from your head. he turns your face just slightly, and joins.

geto’s mouth finds yours first and then gojo leans in too and the three of you just, stay there, kissing soft each other lazily.

gojo makes a quiet sound against both of your lips and then he slumps.

his whole body just gives, forehead dropping to your shoulder, arms coming loosely around you, dead weight. warm. a soft laugh puffs out of him against your neck.

you feel yourself go with him, sinking back into geto's chest. his arms tighten around you from behind. you're sandwiched between them both, gojo heavy and boneless against your front, geto solid at your back.

the city hums outside. the light has gone soft and low.

your dress was shoved up around your waist, your back flat against the prep counter, skin prickling from the contrast of warm air and cold marble. sukuna stood between your thighs, apron still tied, knife in hand, pink hair messy like he hadn’t even stopped working.

he dragged the flat of the blade along your thigh, grinning. “don’t move.”

you didn’t.

then the edge slipped under your panties, and with one clean slice, he cut straight through. “you won’t be needing these.”

the ruined lace hit the floor. his eyes dropped between your legs, watching your slick glisten in the low kitchen light.

“fuck,” he muttered, voice low, thick. “already soaked and I haven’t even touched you.”

his fingers dipped into the bowl of chocolate, warm and glossy. he smeared it on your inner thigh, slow and messy, watching you squirm.

“keep those legs open, sweetheart,” he said, licking a stripe up your skin. “gonna make you taste better than anything i’ve ever plated.”

your breath hitched. his tongue dragged through the chocolate again, then lower, close enough that your cunt fluttered in anticipation.

then came the ice.

he rubbed the cube along your inner thigh, then up higher, right over your folds. the cold hit hard, made your hips jerk, and he just laughed under his breath. the ice melted fast, dripping down to mix with your slick, leaving you soaked and squirming.

then he was licking you again. his mouth was hot, tongue thick and slow as it dragged over your slit. when he sucked your clit into his mouth, you gasped out loud. when he spat and spread it with his thumb, you clenched around nothing.

he slid two fingers in like he was already tired of waiting. they pushed in deep, knuckles brushing your soaked heat as he curled them slow and steady. your pussy clenched hard. wet sounds filled the room, slick and obscene, as he fucked you with his hand and kept his mouth on you the whole time.

your orgasm came sharp and fast. your legs shook. your hands gripped the counter. he moaned against your cunt like it fed him, kept fucking you with his fingers, kept licking until you were too sensitive to think.

he pulled back, face shiny, breath heavy. he sucked his fingers clean and smirked.

“still hungry.”

his voice was low, almost playful, but you knew better. sukuna wasn’t done. not even close.

he reached for the tray beside you. the strawberries were still there, soaked in deep red wine, the skin of the fruit soft and glossy. he picked one up by the stem, juice already dripping from where it had split slightly, and held it up to your lips.

“open,” he said.

you did.

he didn’t feed it to you. not really. he pressed it against your mouth, then leaned in and bit into it from the other side. the fruit crushed between your lips, spilling wine down your chin, splattering onto his. the juice ran sticky down your throat, staining your skin, his tongue chasing it before it could drip further.

he licked up the side of your face, slow and deliberate, then kissed you full on the mouth, wine and sugar and spit mixing between your tongues. his grip was rough when he grabbed your thighs, lifted them over his arms, and stepped in close.

your ass barely stayed on the edge of the counter. he didn’t even bother undoing his apron. just unzipped, shoved his pants down enough to free his cock, and lined it up against your soaked cunt.

you felt the head press through your folds, slick already dripping down to coat him.

“look at this mess,” he muttered, staring down at your pussy as he dragged his tip through it. “gonna fuck it in just like this.”

then he pushed in.

you cried out, head falling back, the stretch making your thighs shake instantly. your legs were over his arms, bent high, and opened wide. his cock filled you to the base and he just held it there for a second.

“tight,” he breathed. “so fuckin’ tight for me.”

he started to move. deep thrusts. each one knocked your body back an inch, your breath catching with every snap of his hips. his grip on your thighs tightened. he looked down at where he disappeared inside you, wet sounds filling the room.

“you hear that?” he said. “that’s your pussy talkin’ to me.”

his thrusts picked up. harder. rougher. the counter squeaked underneath you, your back sliding slightly with every push. his eyes were locked on yours now, jaw clenched, breathing heavy.

you moaned, hands scrambling for something to hold on to, your cunt clenching around him, trying to pull him deeper.

“fuck—yeah,” he groaned, fucking you harder now. “she’s choking me.”

you couldn’t even respond. not with the way he was fucking into you. every time he pulled back, he dragged over that perfect spot, and when he pushed in again, you felt it in your stomach.

your second orgasm was already building. too fast. too much. your legs shook against his arms.

“gonna cum again?” he asked, breath right against your cheek. “yeah you are. be a good girl and soak my fuckin’ cock.”

you did. you came hard, thighs shaking, cunt spasming, squeezing around him so tight he cursed under his breath and slammed into you once, twice, then buried himself deep and came with a low, guttural sound that vibrated against your skin.

his cum filled you fast and oh...so warm. you felt it spill out around his cock, drip back down to the counter, mix with everything else he’d already left on you.

he stayed there, still inside, breathing hard, your legs still hooked over his arms.

his forehead pressed to yours.

“perhaps,” you smile.

he grabs your ankle and drags you down to him in one pull. leans over you until his chest presses against yours, hard and warm, dusted with greying hair. his mouth finds yours and a hum bleeds out of him into your kiss. relief and hunger all at once. you smile against his lips, fingers lacing into his dark grey hair.

your mouth opens for him and he takes. teeth catching your lip, spit-slick and shameless, tongue and the wet drag of his mouth until you’re gripping his hair just to hold on.

he pulls your hand away from your boob and replaces it with his mouth.

he suckles your nipple until it peaks hard against his tongue, groaning low against your skin like the sound was pulled out of him.

he switches to the other, mouthing at it deep and greedy, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room, until it’s just as red and pulls off with a soft pop that makes your breath hitch.

your thighs start to closes and he smacks the inside of your thigh.

"keep them open."

you do.

he settles between them, grey boxers against your panties. he rolls his hips into yours. the cotton friction makes you gasp, feeling every ridge of him through the thin fabric. he does it again, watching your face.

“brett一”

the corner of his lips tilt up in satisfaction. he hums against your skin and mouths at your chest again like he's feasting. muffled groans bleeding into your skin, stubble dragging rough where his mouth is soft, hips keeping that same grinding rhythm.

you pull at his hair and a deep grunt spills out of him. he finally lifts his head, eyes gone almost all black, mouth wet. he looks at you like he’s deciding something.

“nine days,” you say. recounting the days it had been since your last escapade in your apartment.

“nine days,” he repeats, voice rough. his hips press into yours harder and you inhale sharp.

he pulls back just enough and you take the opportunity. hands planting on his chest, you push him down onto the bed and swing your leg over him.

you settle onto his lap and feel it immediately. the damp patch on the front of his boxers, dark grey fabric clinging where he’s been leaking for you. your hips sink down against it and a groan tears out of you before you can stop it.

brett’s jaw tightens. his hands find your hips.

“yeah,” he says quietly. the corners of his eyes crinkle, satisfaction written into every line of his face.

you roll your hips and feel the wet cotton drag against your panties, the outline of him thick and obvious beneath you. your head tips back.

“god,” you breathe.

his thumbs dig into the soft of your hips, watching you work yourself against him with that infuriating face of his. grey threading through his hair, lines carved deep around his mouth, and still he looks at you like you’re the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

he flips you before you can catch your breath. back hitting the mattress, his weight settling over you. he pulls your panties down and off in one motion and tosses them in the background.

he settles between your thighs, and instead of pushing in he just pauses. looking at you spread open for him, wet and wanting.

his thumb finds your clit.

“oh–“ the sound jumps out of you.

he rubs slow, easy circles, watching your face with that same dark patience. "need t'get you ready to take me, baby." his voice is low, a little rough around the edges.

"been a while."

"i can take it," you breathe.

"mm." unconvinced. his thumb keeps moving, and he dips two fingers in without warning, feeling how you clench around them. he groans quietly at that. "yeah? feel how tight you are?"

your hips roll up into his hand. he lets you.

"there she goes," he murmurs. "good girl. jus' like that."

he works you open slow, fingers curling, thumb never stopping, until you're slipping wet around him and whining with it. until you're so soft and swollen and desperate that when he finally lines himself up and pushes in, thick and veined and achingly warm, it makes your breath leave your body all at once.

he stills. jaw tight, chest heaving.

“fuck,” he exhales. “so warm. so fuckin’ perfect.”

he starts to move. slow, deep strokes that have you feeling every ridge of him, the thick drag along your walls, your body gripping him like it’s trying to pull him back every time he pulls out.

“brett—“

“i got you,” he murmurs. “i got you.”

he grips your jaw and tips your head back, kissing you messy and unhurried. all tongue and heat, spit slick at the corner of your mouth. you groan into it and he swallows the sound greedily.

his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing lazy circles while he moves, and the combination makes your vision blur. you grab at his forearm, his shoulder, anything to hold on to.

he pulls back from the kiss just enough to look at you. lips glistening, pupils blown. “mhmm,” he hums. “you like that?”

“yes—yes—“

“good.” his pace stays frustratingly measured. his hand slides up to grip your face, fingers pressing into your cheeks, holding you still. and then he licks into your mouth. slow and filthy, tongue dragging against your teeth, taking his sweet time. you try to kiss back but he doesn’t let you. just holds you there and takes.

he pulls back with a wet sound and pushes his thumb past your lips.

you close around it without thinking. sucking obediently, tongue pressing up against the pad of it, and the sound he makes low in his throat tells you exactly what that does to him.

“good fuckin girl,” he murmurs.

he leaves his thumb there and drops his mouth to your cheek. your jaw. the soft skin beneath your ear. trails down your throat, sucking a bruise into the pulse point without apology. lower, mouthing at your collarbone, your chest, until he’s got your nipple between his teeth again and you’re moaning around his thumb like you’ve lost your mind.

his hips keep that same devastating pace the whole time. never speeding up. just deep and measured and relentless, feeling you get slicker and softer around him with every stroke.

“brett,” you whine. “please.”

he looks up at you from your chest. the lines of his face cast in shadow, grey hair mussed, mouth swollen. he looks absolutely ruinous.

"there it is," he says quietly.

and then he gives it to you.

his hips snap forward and you gasp, hands flying to grip the sheets. he sets a pace that's immediately relentless, deep and punishing, the wet sounds filling the room obscenely. your thighs are trembling. your eyes are burning.

"oh. oh fuck—"

"yeah," he grunts out, eyes locked on your face.

"there you go."

his thumb presses down harder on your clit and whatever sentence you were forming dissolves completely. just a broken sound spilling out of you instead.

“brett i—i–“ you lose your train of thought halfway through. you try again. “please, ’m—”

“you’re what.” he asks low and amused.

you have no idea. you genuinely cannot remember.

his thumb’s relentless on you. “don’t need you thinkin’ right now anyway.”

“f—fuck, brett—” your hips jerk up uselessly. “‘s too—i can’t—i don’t—”

“i know.” he coos. “i know, baby.” he doesn’t stop.

your eyes roll back. mouth slack, sounds coming out of you that you’d be embarrassed about if you could think straight. but you can’t. there’s nothing left up there. just him and the drag of him and the filthy wet heat of it all.

“jus’ take it,” he murmurs. “there’s my girl.”

it hits you like a wave you didn’t see coming.

your whole body locks up, thighs clamping around him, a broken sound tearing out of your throat as you clench around him and fall apart. vision whiting out at the edges, toes curling, fingers twisting helplessly in the sheets.

he works you through it. slowing down.

“brett—” your voice comes out sweet and wrecked. you’re oversensitive and shaking. “i just—”

“i know.” he tuts, unbothered. “not done with you.”

“i can’t—”

“you can.”

he reaches over without a word and grabs the pillow, sliding it under your hips. the angle shifts and you immediately feel the difference, hips tilted up, legs spreading open just a little more.

he drives into it. again and again, deep and focused, hitting that soft mushy place inside you that makes your whole body seize up and your thoughts go completely white. the sounds coming out of you are barely coherent. you’re saying his name like a prayer.

you think you might be seeing stars. the edges of the room going soft and swimmy.

and then you feel his lips press to your forehead. grounding you.

“stay with me,” he mumbles. you exhale shakily. he keeps moving, chasing that high, his breathing gone ragged against your skin, hips driving deeper, harder against that soft spot.

“come with me,” he grits out.

and your body listens.

you cum with a full body shudder, thighs jerking, a broken sound tearing out of you as you clench around him and your vision goes completely white. your hands fly to his back, nails dragging down and leaving red marks in their wake, something between a sob and a moan spilling out of you.

he follows seconds later with a low curse, pulling out and fisting himself, spilling hot and white across your stomach aband your thighs. his whole body shudders through it, head dropping to your chest, a long ragged groan punched out of his chest.

the room is quiet except for the sounds of you both trying to catch your breath.

he lifts his head and takes you in. your hair splayed out and tangled against the pillow, chest heaving, lips swollen and parted. eyes glassy and far away.

he cups your cheek in his palm. thumb stroking slow beneath your eye.

“hey,” he says quietly. the lines around his mouth softening.

you blink up at him. barely there.

he leans down and kisses you. soft this time, nothing like before. just his mouth, pressing once, twice, against your lips gently.

“you did so good for me,” he murmurs against your mouth. another kiss to the corner of your lips. your cheek. “so good.” his thumb keeps caressing your cheek until a tear slips from the corner of your eye.

“too much for you, wasn’t it.” his voice is low and rough at the edges, a little undone himself. his thumb sweeps the wet from your cheek.

you nod slowly.

he makes a quiet sound. almost a laugh under his breath.

“made me so proud, baby.” he presses his lips to where the tear was. then your cheekbone. your temple. working across your face. “so fucking proud.”

another tear slips and he catches that one too.

the evening light seeped between the cracks of the blackout curtains, spilling onto the floor. the room was painted in the familiar shades of lilac and oranges; the entire space was cast in a heavenly glow.   

room 707 had become your and jack's regular hideout.  

neither of you two came in together; you always entered separately. jack would drive off the interstate, taking the less-travelled route to the seedy motel room, always paid in full in cash, never by credit. after he was settled in, you’d wander in after approximately 20 minutes, discarding the overnight bag somewhere between the empty minibar and the queen bed.  

and jack was always there on time.  

sat on the bed with a glass of something amber and cold in a plastic cup. you would always be greeted with a familiar sight – blinds closed tight over the window, the only light threatening to come in being the flickering neon light advertising the strip club across the way – a place that killed hopes before they killed dreams.   

he’d pat the bed in a silent invitation, and you would climb into his arms, the world folding on itself for a few blissful nights. the room a constant witness to stolen kisses and fantasies.  

but today was different.  

today, you’re pinned flush to jack’s front; the solid weight of his chest pressing into your back with every breath he takes.  

the room flickers with the glow of the television – static noise filling the room as a filthy loop plays in front of you. jack had brought a duffel bag full of vhs tapes – the reels marked in illegible permanent marker scrawl. last time both of you were there, he noticed the vcr hooked up to the television, which was when he brought up the idea of him showing you ‘home videos’ he watched religiously as a teenager.  

and there he was, chest heaving beneath you as the sounds of moans and grunts filled the motel room. the woman on the screen sinks to her knees, baring her throat to the masked intruder in front of her. a smile twitches at the corner of jack's mouth, as he buries his face in your hair when you squirm beneath him.  

“you know,” jack starts, clearing his throat slightly against your neck. “i used to touch myself to these when i was your age. whenever i felt so lonely.”  

“you used to–”  

“yep.” jack rasps. his hand creeps up from your shin to your inner thigh as he shifts beneath you, the denim of his pants brushing your bare ass. “you want jackie to do that to you? you want jackie to touch you, kiddo?”  

you could only whine at the question in response, your head falling back to meet his shoulder, eyes transfixed on the video playing in front of you.  

when you don’t relent to meet his gaze, he hooks two fingers underneath your chin, calloused knuckles skimming your jaw. “tell jackie what you want,” he murmurs. you tear your stare away at the sound of his voice, breath quickening as he slides his other hand between your thighs.  

“i…” you swallow hard, the bitter taste of fear staining your tongue. you couldn’t meet his eyes. there was something unusual about saying what you wanted. as if wanting was a selfish act you couldn’t bring yourself to do.

your mouth feels dry, the sudden feeling of bile creeping up the back of your throat. heat creeping up from the column of your neck as you try to meet his stare – the stuffy motel air sucking out any defiance you had building inside of you.  

“you what?” jack coaxes, hand stroking your chin – slow, reverent. his thumb swipes across your lower lip, then dips inside your mouth. “use your big girl words.”  

you look up at him – eyes flushed, lips parted around his thumb; jack’s stare focused on your mouth.

“so tight for me…” he mutters, the pad of his thumb skimming the front of your teeth. jack lets out a big exhale from his mouth when you bite down slightly, feeling your tongue swirling around the ridges on his finger. “answer me.”  

your eyes flicker down to his lips momentarily before going back to his face. “i …” you muffle around his thumb, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. “i want you to do that to me.”  

“want what? i can’t know what you want if you don’t tell me, baby girl.”  

the sound of the ipad blares between your legs – feminine cries mixing with the sound of leather hitting flesh hard and rough; the buzz of cicadas outside interweaving with the sounds of pleasure emitting from the device, drowning the room with monotonous racket.  

you hesitate for a moment, eyes searching his. faintly under your breath, you respond.  

 “i want jackie to play with me.”  

“play with what?”  

you whine, head falling into the crook of his neck to hide.   

“no, no look at me,” jack chuckles, tilting your face upward. “what do you want jackie to play with?”  

“want you to play with my princess parts,” you whisper, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.  

“attagirl,” he rumbles, letting go of your chin. he pulls his thumb out of your mouth with a wet pop before smearing the spit across your cheek.  

jack cups your jaw, tilting your face slightly upward. “see? was it that hard?”

he smiles at your insistent nod, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shuffles you so that you are lying back properly against his chest.  

your eyes go back to the tv, still playing the video, and the scene changes. this time, the woman is lying on the bed – mirroring the exact position you are in – playing with herself whilst the man sits in a corner, watching her. 

“do you think she’s beautiful?” his chin falls to the top of your head. “kinda looks like you in a way, doesn’t she? my beautiful, pretty girl.” 

jack kisses your temple, lips lingering. “she’s got your tits, you know?” his hand makes a slow descent from your abdomen. “maybe we can make a video like that someday. just you and me.”

“a video?” you gulp.

“just for jackie. you trust me, don’t you?” 

groaning, his hand settle on top of your pussy, fingers ghosting your folds – a sharp gasp leaving his lips when he realises just how wet you are.

“this all for me, baby? did jackie do this to you?” 

you whimper, hands reaching blindly for his as you writhe underneath his grip. his free hand shoots for your wrist, pinning it down to the mattress beside you. he tsks softly before languidly moving his finger up and down, his breath hot on your ear.

“it’s okay, kiddo,” he coos, biting the lobe of your ear. “jackie’s here.”

jack pulls out his body from under you, setting your body aside with a pat of your thigh. you whimper at the loss of contact – eyes tracking as he makes his way to the foot of the bed.  

“what are you doing?” you frown, sitting up on your elbows, head straining upwards to meet him. you watch with a bated breath as he looks down on you, a small smirk forming on his lips as you stare up at him, brows furrowed in confusion.

jack ignores your sounds of protest and pushes down on your shoulder, laying you flat against the mattress, arms straining under the weight of dragging you down to the edge of the bed by your thighs. 

chaste kisses are planted on your ankle, forcing a giggle out of you. jack smiles softly at the sound, lips trailing their way from the inside all the way up to your inner thigh – mouth memorising the taste of salt sweat on your skin and the smell of something strawberry mixed with a flower too far back in his mind to name. 

he exhales, hot air on your warm cunt.  

“is this okay, sweetheart?” he asks, his hand parting your thighs a fraction.

“jac–” 

he tsks, cutting you off softly. he nudges your chin, forcing your eyes back on the woman on the screen. “you trust me, don’t you, kiddo?”  

“yeah,” you whisper, words scratching your throat as you look back to the screen. “i trust you, jackie.” 

on the screen, the intruder approaches the woman – the man slicing her zip-tied bound hands free. your breath hitches for a moment. a moment passes when she takes the mask off to reveal that the man who hunted her down – stalked her like prey in a sea of targets – was the man she trusted and loved. 

just how jack picked you. 

he feels you arch your back slightly at the revelation. he instantly pins a forearm over your lower abdomen, pinning you in place. leaning his head back slightly, he gathers saliva in his mouth before flooding your pussy with the wet slick. you jolt, hips bucking towards his face. 

“you said you trusted me, didn’t you?” 

you nod. 

“then let me do my job, okay?” he pats your thigh with a smile, exhaling when your eyes return to the television in the corner. 

you gasp as he drags the flat of his tongue from your entrance to your clit in one soft, sweep motion – hands flying to card your fingers through jack’s curls.

he groans as you tug on the grey ends, his nails digging crescent shapes into your inner thigh. “baby,” jack warns, his voice muffled in between your legs.

you hum in response, breath shaking as you bite back a moan. your eyes are squeezed shut – the porn on the television is fading into background noise.

“let me hear those moans for me,” he groans into your thigh, his tongue poking at your entrance.  

“tell jackie just how much you love it. want to hear all of those beautiful sounds you make, kiddo.” 

“yo–fuck–” you let out a broken moan, legs closing in on his head as he continues his relentless licks. “fuck, jackie, you are! you’re making me feel too good.”  

jack forcefully separates your thighs without looking up – mouth licking lazily over your clit; hand disappearing briefly to his pants before grazing the back of your knees.

“she tastes so good, sweetheart,” he mumbles against you, planting a wet kiss on your clit. 

grinding your hips unconsciously against his face, jack lets out a low moan at the desperate attempt for friction, his nails digging in deeper into the side of your thighs. 

tears prick at the corner of your eyes. “‘s too much ja–” 

“no, it’s not,” jack purrs against your pussy, the vibration causing your toes to curl inwards. “you’re my big girl, remember?” 

“i’m your big girl,” you sniffle. 

“‘m going to have to keep her all to myself,” he rasps, his tongue dragging lazily over you. “scare away all the boys for her. would you like that, baby? me having this pussy all by myself?” 

you whimper and writhe weakly at his words, hands straining to card through his hair, as he moves his head deeper, his tongue relentlessly lapping your juices at your entrance. then, jack pulls back, a whine escaping your throat at the sudden loss of stimulation – the coil in your stomach that was steadily building dissipating in seconds.

you look down, a grunt escaping your lips as you shift for a better look at him. in the glow of the bedside lamp, you can make out his heaving; the light highlighting the sheen on his stubble, biting his slowing lips as his eyes rake over yours.

he runs two fingers slowly through your juices. smiling into your thigh as he feels you shudder under his touch. 

“kiddo,” jack starts, his voice hoarse. “two fingers, okay, that’s it.” he kisses the inner of your thigh before clearing his throat. “you remember the safe word?” 

jack smiles at your frantic nod, pressing another kiss to your thigh. “knew you’d be a good girl for me.”

he gently slips the fingers into your entrance, wet enough to accept it without any resistance. his eyes flicker over your face for any hints of discomfort.

you let out a moan as jack’s mouth latches to your clit again, his finger curling to find the sweet spot.

“right there, baby?” jack muffles against you, moaning with reckless abandon.

“yes! fuck jack-” you wail, hands scrambling to find purchase on the stained sheets beneath you. “yeah, jesus, right there.”

your legs shake, quivering violently as jack continues his rhythmic thrusts – hips grinding against his face as jack’s tongue keeps flicking over your clit. “that’s it, kiddo. cum for jackie.”

shattering, chest heaving, your hips buck against jack’s face; his fingers ruthlessly maintaining the pace as he keeps eating you straight through – forcing your body to ride every single wave of release. 

leaving you on the bed, still high on adrenaline, jack taps your knee before disappearing into the bathroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts; the ticking of the clock matches the beat of the sound of the blood rushing to your ears.

heavy breaths from the television pulls you out of your reverie. 

without looking, your hands glide over the mattress, hands wandering blind in the dark as you try to find the remote. when they stumble onto something hard and rough, shaking fingers plunge the room into darkness and silence.

your eyes flutter shut as you hear the tap turning on. smiling into the pillow as you hear jack string a curse, the water drowning out the rest of his voice. 

jack returns a few moments later, a soaked towel in his hands. your eyes open to a tender smile playing on his lips as he sits his body right next to you, lying down – the bed creaking softly under his familiar weight. he passes the towel slowly, reverently, over your sweat-slicked thighs before leaning down to press featherlight kisses to the fat of your stomach. 

“go to sleep, kiddo,” he whispers in the dark. “i got you.”

you curl against his body as he strokes the length of your spine – your ear pressed to his chest, your own heartbeat matching the rhythm of his. 

in room 707 of the motel that sat off the interstate, shades of blue and white scattered light throughout the room – jack's frame enveloping yours as the night pulled you both under a dreamless sleep.

your robes were pushed up around your waist, your back arched, one cheek pressed to the stone as he drove into you from behind. his hand was firm on your hip, the other braced beside your head, fingers curled against the wall for balance. he filled you completely, thick and hot, dragging his cock slowly through your soaked cunt with every thrust.

you were already a mess. slick coated your thighs, dripping to the floor. your walls clenched around him, fluttering with every deep push. each time he bottomed out, it knocked the breath out of you. you couldn’t speak. you couldn’t move. all you could do was take it.

he fucked you like it was the only thing that mattered. not rushed. not gentle. just deep, controlled strokes that made your body burn. the curtain didn’t block the sound. the wet slap of skin, the soft panting, the occasional stutter of breath when he hit that perfect spot inside you. it was all there. anyone could hear if they dared to listen.

you came without warning. your pussy clenched hard around him, milking his cock, the orgasm hitting fast and hard. your body tensed, legs shaking, mouth open in a silent gasp as you gushed around him, soaking his cock and the stone beneath you. he didn’t stop. he kept fucking you through it, steady and relentless.

when he came, it was deep. his hips pressed flush against yours, cock twitching as he filled you up, hot and thick, cum leaking from your swollen cunt the moment he pulled out.

he fixed your robes slowly, adjusting the layers with careful hands. not rushed. not shameful. like he had every right to ruin you and then put you back together.

outside, the prayers continued, soft and obedient. to them, he was untouchable. divine. their salvation dressed in silk and control.

but you knew the truth. you knew the weight of his body, the heat of his breath, the way he fucked like you were the only thing worth worshipping. he lived by one law. death to the fool. punishment to the weak. love to the strong. and this was what that love felt like. brutal. consuming. absolute.

"dirty little brain you've got there, darling," he murmurs, the words vibrating against your skin in a low, breathy hum. "i’m trying to talk to you—trying to tell you about my day and you haven't heard a single fucking word."

he huffs a short teasing laugh, pulling out until he’s barely holding on by the tip, just enough to grind agonisingly against your clit.

"grant. please. i’ll be good, i’ll listen—just make me cum first," you whine, your head falling back as your eyes go lidded and glazed, looking at him with that fucked out expression that tells him exactly how close you are.

sweat starts to bead at his silver hairline, his smirk widening as he watches you unravel. he hums, a low sound of feigned consideration, acting like he’s actually weighing your offer.

the tension shatters as he buries himself to the brim. his breath hitches, a jagged sound in his chest as your pussy clenches around his base.

“holy fuck.” he groans breathlessly like the sensation punched the air right out of his lungs.

“is this what you wanted, hmm? you been thinking about this cock inside you? tell me, baby.”

you tilt your head back, as you try to catch your breath. you look at him through your lashes, your chest heaving against his.

"yes," you breathe out, the word sounding broken and small. "yes, grant. please."

he lets out a shaky, jagged breath at your admission and his forehead drops against yours. he closes his eyes for a second just to savor the sound of his name on your lips.

"good girl," he rasps, his voice dropping into that low gravelly register. his grip on your hips turns possessive as he anchors you.

his hips snap forward in a rhythm that is urgent. he reaches down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in a fast, rhythmic circle that sends a jolt through you.

your hand tightens in his greying hair, tugging slightly as the combination of the deep thrusts and the friction has you both reaching the limit at the exact same time.

you let out a high, broken cry against his neck as you start to come, and the feeling of you clamping down around him is the final straw for grant. he loses his composure completely, his body stiffening as he buries himself deep inside.