✧ now playing: Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon ┃ masterlist
laceys note ; idek where I went with this I just though this was FUNNT ASF, anyway the writing is kinda bad but I hope yall like anyway! (kinda left yous on a cliff hanger sorry lol x) comments, reblogs and feedback means so much, plsss don’t be a silent reader cause ily all babies! pls enjoy 😚
Jay had not come to London to fall victim to a pretty face.
He’d come to perform — four nights, sold out, every seat filled with people who knew every word to every song. He’d come to give everything he had to a crowd that gave it right back, to stand under lights so bright they bleached the world white, to feel that particular kind of electric that only existed on stage.
He had not come to get distracted.
Yet.
The club was Heeseung’s idea — we have one night left, we’re in London, we are going out — delivered with the kind of finality that left zero room for arguments.
So here Jay was, drink in hand, bass vibrating through the soles of his shoes, surrounded by his members in a dark corner booth that their manager had quietly secured. No fanfare. No announcement. Just seven boys finally, finally exhaling after months of controlled chaos.
He was happy. Genuinely. The kind of loose, warm happy that only came after weeks of adrenaline finally releasing its grip on your nervous system.
He was also, apparently, very easy to distract.
Because that’s when he saw you.
You weren’t doing anything extraordinary. That was the thing that got him.
You weren’t performing for the room the way some people did — no extravagant hair flips, no eyes scanning for attention, no body angled that said look at me.
You were just — there. Present. Laughing at something your friend had said, head thrown back, completely unbothered by the hundred of sweaty bodies pressing in around you.
You were wearing something that made his mouth go dry but that wasn’t even the thing that got him. It was the way you occupied the space around you. Like you owned it without trying. Like the club had been built specifically to frame you and you alone.
Jay noticed everything about you.
“You’re staring,” Heeseung said into his ear, without even looking up from his drink.
“I’m observing,” Jay said.
“At a specific person.”
“At the area.”
Heeseung finally looked up, followed his eyeline across the dancefloor, and made a sound of quiet understanding. “Ah.”
“Don’t.” Jay said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Heeseung smiled into his drink and said nothing. Which was somehow worse.
Jay looked back at you. You’d moved slightly, swaying now to whatever the DJ had shifted into, your friends forming a loose orbit around you. Still laughing. Still completely unaware of him staring at you like you’re a goddess.
The thing was it was usually him being looked at — cameras, crowds, eyes tracking his every move from pit to balcony. People looked at Jay Park. That was just a fact of his life, as constant and unremarkable as breathing.
You weren’t looking at him and it was driving him insane.
He drained the rest of his drink in one gulp, set the glass down with a quiet click. “Back in a bit,” he said.
Heeseung didn’t even look up. “Sure you are.”
Jay was already moving.
The thing about London clubs was the heat. Thick and immediate, the kind that soaked into your skin the second you stepped onto the floor. You’d stopped noticing it an hour ago, too caught up in the music, in your friends, in the freedom of a night with nowhere to be and nothing to do but exist in it.
Your friend had said something about drinks and disappeared toward the bar. You’d stayed, unbothered, moving easily to the bass line currently vibrating through the floor, through your bones, through everything.
You didn’t hear him coming over, though you wouldn’t have — the music too loud, the crowd too thick. The first thing you registered was warmth. A presence behind you, close but not touching, giving you the choice.
You turned your head slightly. Just enough.
He was tall. Dark eyes catching the strobe light for just a second before the room plunged dim again. Sharp jaw, pretty mouth curved at the corner like he already knew something you didn’t. He smelled expensive — cedar and something warmer underneath, something that made you want to lean in to identify it properly.
A stranger. A very, very attractive stranger.
You faced forward again and didn’t move away. That was all the answer he needed.
His hands found your waist — light at first, barely there, a question more than a statement. When you didn’t pull away he settled them properly, warm and sure against your hips, and moved with you.
He was a good dancer. Effortlessly, annoyingly good. His body found your rhythm without fumbling for it, hips rolling slow and deliberate against yours, chest warm against your back. Not aggressive. Just — assured. Like he had all the time in the world and intended to use it.
You relaxed back into him by degrees, almost without deciding to. His lips found the curve of your ear.
“You’ve been ignoring this whole room all night,” he said, voice low, cutting clean through the noise like it was meant only for you. A trace of an accent you couldn’t quite place. “How come?”
You tipped your head back slightly against his shoulder, glancing up at him from the corner of your eye. “Maybe the room wasn’t worth paying attention to,” you said.
The smile that pulled at his mouth was slow and devastating. His grip on your hips tightened — just slightly. Just enough. “And now?” he asked.
You turned in his hold then, fully, facing him for the first time.
Up close he was even more disarming — something almost familiar about his face that you couldn’t place, like a word on the tip of your tongue. You let your hands rest against his chest and felt the warmth of him through the fabric.
“Jury’s still out,” you said.
He laughed. Low and genuine, surprised like he hadn’t expected that. Like most people didn’t say that to him.
“Jay,” he said, offering his name like something casual. Like it cost him nothing and this case, it didn’t.
You gave him yours. He repeated it back to you once, quiet, testing the shape of it — and something about the way he said it made your stomach pull tight.
The song shifted. Heavier. Slower in a way that wasn’t slow at all.
Jay’s eyes dropped to your mouth for just a second. Came back up.
“Dance with me properly,” he said. Less a question, more like inevitability. You did.
He knew exactly what he was doing — every movement deliberate, every shift of his hips calculated to make your brain short circuit. His hands roamed with confidence, never rushed, tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, the small of your back — like he was learning you by touch alone and intended to be thorough about it.
You’d stopped thinking about your friends approximately four songs ago.
The music was filthy — bass so heavy it felt physical, the kind of track that gave everyone on the floor permission to stop pretending. Bodies pressed in around you both, hot and close, the air thick with sweat and perfume and the particular electricity of a room full of people who’d decided to stop caring.
Jay’s chest was flush against your back, one hand splayed flat across your stomach, the other gripping your hip hard. His mouth was at your ear, your jaw, occasionally brushing the side of your neck without quite committing to it — just enough to make you acutely aware of exactly where his lips weren’t.
You rolled your hips back against him deliberately. His grip tightened. A sharp exhale against your neck.
“Don’t start something you’re not finishing,” he murmured, voice dropped low and rough in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the noise around you.
You turned your head, mouth close to his jaw. “Who said I’m not finishing it?”
The sound he made was barely audible over the music. But you felt it — a low noise in his chest, something unravelling at the edges.
His mouth found your neck properly then and your eyes fell shut for a second, fingers curling into the hand he had splayed across your stomach.
He turned you around in one smooth motion, hands cupping your face, tilting it up. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, all that easy confidence stripped back to something more urgent underneath.
“Tell me to stop,” he said. Giving you the out.
“Jay.” His name in your mouth for the first time, and the way his jaw tightened when you said it — god. “I’m not telling you to stop.”
His thumb traced your lower lip. Just once. “Good,” he said quietly.
He took your hand.
The crowd swallowed you both as he navigated through the bodies with practiced ease, one hand firm in yours, pulling you toward the back corridor of the club where the noise dimmed by degrees — still audible, still thumping through the walls, but muffled now. Distant. Like the rest of the world had agreed to give you both a moment.
The bathroom door. He pushed it open, checked it was empty, pulled you in after him. The lock clicked behind you.
And then he turned around and looked at you in the dim light of the single overhead bulb — chest rising and falling, hair slightly dishevelled from the dancefloor, mouth curving into that same devastating smile from earlier.
Except closer now. So much closer.
“Hi,” he said softly. Almost like he was seeing you properly for the first time.
Something about it made your breath catch.
“Hi,” you said back.
He kissed you.
He kissed different to how you expected. Slower. More deliberate. Like he was in absolutely no rush despite the fact that you were in a club bathroom and the bass was still thumping through the walls like a second heartbeat. His thumbs traced your cheekbones while his mouth moved against yours, drawing you in deep and unhurried until you were gripping the front of his shirt just to have something to hold onto.
He pulled back just enough to look at you. Eyes dark, chest rising and falling, that insufferable almost-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“You have no idea,” he said quietly, “how long I’ve been thinking about doing that.”
“You saw me forty minutes ago,” you managed.
“Long forty minutes.”
You laughed despite yourself and he swallowed it, kissing you again — deeper this time, hungrier, one hand sliding from your jaw into your hair while the other traced the curve of your waist, your hip, the hem of your skirt.
His mouth dropped to your neck. Open and warm, tongue dragging slow across your pulse point while his fingers toyed with the waistband of your underwear — not pushing in yet, just tracing the elastic, back and forth, until you shifted your hips toward him without meaning to.
He noticed. Of course he noticed. “Tell me what you want,” he murmured against your throat.
“Jay—”
“Tell me.” Not harsh. Just certain. Like he had all the time in the world and intended to use every second of it.
“Touch me,” you breathed. “Please.”
The please seemed to do something to him — jaw tightening against your neck, a low noise in his chest. “Good girl,” he said softly. “Was that so hard?”
His fingers slipped beneath the fabric. The sound you made when he made contact was immediate and mortifying — a sharp gasp that you muffled against his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
He stroked through your folds slowly, gathering the slick heat of you, and made a sound himself — low and reverent, like he’d been handed something precious.
“God,” he breathed. “Already?”
“Don’t,” you started.
“I’m not teasing.” He pulled back to look at you, completely sincere, eyes dark and blown wide. “That’s — you’re incredible. You know that?”
You didn’t know what to do with that. With the way he said it — not performative, not practiced. Just honest.
He pressed a single kiss to the corner of your mouth and then sank two fingers inside you. Your head dropped back against the wall.
He worked you open with devastating patience — fingers curling, pace building slow and deliberate, heel of his palm grinding against your clit while he watched your face with an intensity that felt almost like too much. Like he was cataloguing every micro-expression, every caught breath, storing them somewhere.
“Let me hear you,” he said quietly. “Don’t hold back.”
“People will—”
“Let them.” His fingers curled harder and your argument dissolved into a moan that you couldn’t have swallowed if you tried.
“There.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “There it is. Just like that.” He did it again. Deliberately. Just to hear you repeat it.
“Jay—” His name breaking apart in your mouth, thighs trembling around his hand, the wet obscene sound of his fingers working you open loud in the small tiled space. “Jay, I’m — god, I’m going to—”
“Yeah you are,” he said, almost conversationally, eyes fixed entirely on your face. “Come on. Let me hear it. Want to hear you say my name when you come.”
It hit you like a current — rolling deep and devastating, your whole body shuddering, his name tearing from your throat exactly like he’d asked for it, fingers clenching around his wrist to hold him there while he worked you through every aftershock with merciless patience.
“Perfect,” he breathed, almost to himself. “Absolutely perfect.”
You were still shaking when he withdrew his fingers, brought them to his mouth without breaking eye contact, and sucked them clean. Your brain simply ceased functioning entirely.
“Jay.” Your voice came out wrecked. “If you don’t—”
“I know.” He was already reaching into his back pocket. “I know, I’ve got you.”
He rolled the condom on with steady hands, pushed your skirt up properly, and then his hands found the backs of your thighs and hoisted you up against the wall in one clean motion — your legs locking around his waist automatically, his forearms braced either side of your head.
He looked at you for just a second. Hair wrecked, lips swollen, holding your entire weight like it was nothing. “Still good?” he asked.
“If you don’t move right now—”
He pushed inside.
The stretch was immediate and overwhelming — thick and deep, splitting you open on a slow relentless slide until he was fully seated and you were gasping open mouthed against his jaw, nails marking into his shoulder skin through the fabric of his shirt.
He stilled. Just for a moment. Forehead dropping to yours, jaw tight with the effort of it. “Fuck,” he breathed. Genuine. . “You feel — god, you feel unreal.”
Then he moved.
Long, deep strokes that drove the air from your lungs completely — his hips snapping up into yours with a precision that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing and had zero intention of pretending otherwise. The wall creaked behind you. Your sounds were swallowed by the bass through the walls but barely, barely — every thrust punching a noise out of you that you couldn’t contain.
“Louder,” he said against your ear, low and rough. “Come on. Want to hear you.”
“Jay—”
“Louder.” His pace intensified, one hand gripping your thigh so hard you’d see it tomorrow, the other braced against the wall. “Let me hear how good it feels. Need to hear it.”
You stopped trying to muffle yourself.
The noise that left you was unrestrained — his name, fragmented and desperate, and the effect it had on him was instantaneous. His rhythm stuttered, a rough groan against your neck, hips snapping harder and more erratic.
“Yeah,” he breathed, strained. “Yeah, exactly like that, you’re doing so — fuck—”
He shifted suddenly — lowering you, turning you, bending you forward over the edge of the sink with a gentleness that contradicted the urgency of it entirely. Hands smoothing down your spine like he had all the time in the world while you gripped the porcelain edge and caught your own reflection in the mirror — wrecked and flushed, Jay behind you, jaw set with concentration.
His eyes found yours in the mirror. Held them. “Watch,” he said quietly.
He pushed back inside from this angle and the sound you both made simultaneously was obscene.
Deeper like this. Meaner. His hands gripping your hips, pulling you back onto him with each thrust, the slap of skin loud and rhythmic and filthy. But his eyes never left yours in the mirror — watching every expression cross your face, drinking it in, that same focused intensity like you were the only thing worth looking at in the entire world.
“Tell me how it feels,” he said, breathless now, composure finally fraying at every edge. “Tell me.”
“So good,” you managed, barely. “Jay — god — so good, don’t stop—”
“Not stopping.” His jaw was tight, pace relentless. “Not even close. You’re—” He exhaled roughly. “You’re unbelievable, absolute—”
The second orgasm hit you without warning — sudden and total, clenching around him so hard your vision fractured white, his name coming out of you in a broken keen that echoed off the tiles.
He followed immediately — burying himself deep with a rough groan muffled against your shoulder, hips grinding slow and deliberate while he spilled into the condom, shuddering once, twice, then going completely still.
Silence. Just breathing. And the muffled bass through the walls. And both of you wrecked and trembling and not quite ready to move.
He pressed his lips to the back of your neck. Soft. Unhurried. Like a full stop. “You okay?” he murmured.
“I don’t know what I am,” you said honestly.
He laughed quietly against your skin. Steadied you as he withdrew, disposed of the condom, smoothed your skirt back down with careful hands like you were something worth taking care of.
You turned around. Faced him in the dim light.
His hair was destroyed. His mouth was swollen. His eyes were soft in a way that felt wildly at odds with the last twenty minutes and somehow made it worse.
His phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Three times. Something shifted in his expression — almost imperceptible, there and gone. He glanced at the screen and something complicated moved behind his eyes.
“I have to go,” he said. The words landed soft but final.
You blinked. Searched his face. “Right now?”
“Right now.” He looked genuinely pained about it, nothing like you’d have expected from a stranger in a club bathroom. Just — sorry. Actually sorry. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to.”
You studied him for a moment. Believed him, somehow, in a way you couldn’t entirely explain. “Okay,” you said quietly.
He stepped forward, cupped your face in both hands with a tenderness that felt wildly disproportionate to the last twenty minutes, and kissed you — slow and soft and thorough, like he was committing something to memory.
When he pulled back his eyes stayed closed for just a second longer than necessary.
“You were incredible,” he murmured against your lips. “Truly.”
And then he was gone — door swinging shut behind him, footsteps disappearing into the noise of the club, swallowed immediately by the crowd like he’d never been there at all.
You stood in the dim bathroom light. Chest still heaving. Lips still warm.
You didn’t even know his last name.
—
“Why am I here,” you said, trying and unsuccessfully to dig your heels into the pavement to stop Ava from dragging you. “You know I don’t even listen to them.”
“That’s exactly why you need to come,” she shot back, not slowing for a second. “Character development.”
“This is not character development, this is kidnapping.” She ignored you completely, flashing your tickets at the staff and pulling you inside before you could protest further. Trapping you unfortunatly.
The noise hit you immediately — screaming bleeding through the walls, that loud screeching kind that only existed at concerts. You grimaced. “I feel underdressed for this level of commitment.”
“You’ll survive.”
“I might not.”
“You will. And you’re going to thank me later.”
“Unlikely.”
She finally stopped once you were inside, turning to face you with a look that said she was entirely too pleased with herself. “You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being honest. Why didn’t you just bring Mei? She actually likes them.”
“She bailed.”
“Convenient.”
“Also,” your friend added, narrowing her eyes slightly, “you need to get out more.”
You let out a dry laugh. “I go out.”
“Hooking up with mysterious strangers in clubs does not count as social enrichment.”
Your stomach dropped. Just slightly. Just enough. You forced your expression to stay neutral (you’re almost certain you failed to do so though). “That was one time.”
She wasn’t listening to you anymore, instead she was shoving further through the crowd, hand around your wrist and dragging you with a lot more force than earlier. “Move, move—oh my god, move!”
“Ava—” you stumbled as she yanked you forward again, nearly knocking into a group of girls already screaming near the front. “Ava, we’re going to be squashed.”
“We are not standing in the back like losers,” Ava snapped, squeezing between people with zero shame. “I did not fight for these tickets just to see them as tiny little pixels with my own eyes.”
“You’re going to kill me.”
“Worth it for a banging view.”
You barely had time to argue before she finally stopped—right up against the metal barricade, hands gripping until her knuckles were white like she’d reached salvation and was clinging to it. “Oh my god,” she breathed, eyes wide, already completely gone. “We’re so close.”
You looked around, slightly stunned. She’d actually done it. “You’re insane,” you said.
“And yet—” she shot you a grin, breathless, “—you love me.”
You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond the lights cut. The screams that followed felt like they could tear the roof off the building. Ava grabbed your arm instantly, her nails marking crescents into your skin. “THIS IS IT.”
You winced. “You’re yelling directly into my ear.”
“Shut up, they’re coming—”
They walked out. Seven of them. You weren’t really paying attention at first — just shapes, movement, noise — until Ava started yelling next to you, gripping your arm harder now.
“That one—” she shouted over the music, pointing. “That’s Jay, I told you about him—”
You followed her finger. And everything in your body went completely still.
No.
No, that—
That’s not—
But it was.
Same face. Same eyes. Same mouth. Just under stage lights now instead of a dim bathroom light.
Jay. The same Jay that fucked you in a bathroom last night and called you ‘good girl’ and made you come until you saw stars was now standing on stage in front of thousands of people. Singing and dancing like it was normal.
Like he was normal.
Your hand flew to Ava’s sleeve and your grip tightened unconsciously around it. “That’s—” you started, but your voice didn’t come out right.
“What?” she yelled, not looking at you she’s too fixated on them (you couldn’t blame her anymore). “Isn’t he insane?”
You couldn’t breathe properly. He moved closer to the front of the stage and for a split second—
His eyes swept across the crowd. Until they locked right at the barricade. On you.
It was brief. So brief you could’ve convinced yourself you imagined it. Except—
His expression changed. Just slightly, almost barely notable until the glow of the stage lights but you noticed. It was that same flicker you’d seen in the bathroom when his phone buzzed.
⌗ in which . . . you and park jongseong, engaged by an arrangement, lose all restraint in one jealous penthouse night
流星 ໑ . . fiancé!jay x fem!reader
⌗ includes . . . smut (18+), possessive partner, arranged engagement, vulgar language, oral sex (f. receiving), multiple orgasms, so much overstimulation, jay is aggressive as shit, degradation & praise mix, creampie, shit ton of filthy talk, exhibitionism, unprotected sex (don’t), just a lot of filthy things in general, please don’t imprison me 💔 ➜ mdni ! or do.. it's up to you ♡ purely a work of fiction, none of this is real | wc 5.9k
♪ el’s bubble: man, i miss jay ya’ll i dug real hard into my saved documents to find this beast from back in december (this was made because i was stuck in an airport and i was feeling FREAKY 😛 i just remember making this incredibly freaky.. like multiple rounds type shit.. & i had to time out and stuff because what the hell was this 🥀 yes, even president el spiraled over the filthiness of this ! I’M A CHANGED & LESS FREAKED OUT EL NOW, OKAY ☹️) so, yes, this is five months old. i was incredibly obsessed with this song too so there’s that . . gotta keep pushing even though i’m lowkenuinely going insane over the mafialeader!riki fic 💪 not proofread, enjoy — likes, reblogs, and feedbacks are deeply appreciated on here ♡ requests are always open if you want to see me write something specific ۫ ׅ
tags: @wonscapes @simsimluver @maishee @grdientlips @kristynaaah @psychicdazestrawberry @heesroses @vmpiricou @seungiesdoll | just ask if you want to be a part of my tag list ˙𐃷˙
now playing . . . love me harder by ariana grande & the weeknd
The night begins in a polished silence that feels heavier than conversation.
It's the kind that follows a public dinner where everything was perfectly performed but nothing felt real, and in the private elevator ride upward, you and Jay stand side by side without touching, yet hyper-aware of each other's presence in a way that makes even the smallest movement feel loaded with things neither of you are saying.
You don't look at him.
You don't need to.
You can feel the restrained energy radiating off him, the way he's holding himself with that infuriating composure that makes everyone else look slightly unsure of themselves.
The elevator's soft lighting catches the sharp line of his jaw, the fitted polo shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and chest in a way that should be illegal at a formal event.
You've spent too long pretending you don't notice these things, the way he fills a room without trying, the calm authority in his posture, how unfairly put-together he looks even now in private.
But tonight it's way, way, way worse.
Tonight you keep catching the small things you're not supposed to care about.
The way he looked across the table when someone else made you laugh.
The controlled silence he kept instead of reacting.
The fact that he never asks questions he doesn't already know the answer to.
Worse than anything else is the realization you refuse to say out loud, that you don't just see him clearly, you always have.
Even when you were supposed to be treating him like a contract, not a weakness.
The dinner replays in your mind on a loop.
The rival heir, some visiting businessman's son with a silver tongue and wandering eyes, had spent the entire evening making his intentions so damn clear.
He'd leaned too close when he spoke to you, laughed too loudly at your quiet responses, let his gaze drag over you like he had every right to look.
His hand had found your arm at one point, fingers lingering on your bare skin, and you'd felt Jay's attention sharpen from across the table.
Though he hadn't said a word, he had just watched you both, composed as marble.
It stung more than anger would have.
When the elevator doors open to the penthouse, the space is vast, expensive, and quiet in a way that should feel comforting but instead feels isolating.
Floor-to-ceiling windows display the glittering sprawl of the city below, but neither of you pauses to admire it.
You move through the room separately, shedding the weight of public appearances without acknowledging how tense the air between you has become.
You head toward the walk-in closet without a word, a room so large it feels like its own world, and begin removing your jewelry slowly, methodically.
The diamond earrings first, then the bracelet, each piece placed with deliberate care on the velvet tray.
Your fingers find the clasp of your necklace, but the angle is awkward, and you abandon it in favor of working on the pins in your hair.
It's something to do with your hands.
Something to ground you while your thoughts stay tangled on the dinner, on the way Jay barely reacted, on everything he didn't say.
You're so lost in your own head that you don't hear him approach.
He enters without announcing himself, stopping just inside the doorway rather than fully stepping in.
The silence stretches.
For a moment there's only the sound of fabric shifting and the distant hum of the city filtering through glass walls.
You don't turn around.
"Jay, can you help me with the zipper?"
It comes out casually.
Almost way too casually, like you're trying to ignore how aware you are of him standing there.
How the temperature in the room seems to have risen ten degrees just from his proximity.
He approaches in silence.
You feel him before you see him, the warmth of his body, the subtle shift of air as he moves closer.
His hands are steady when they reach for the zipper at the back of your dress, but there's a pause before he touches you that feels like hesitation he doesn't allow himself to name.
Then the zipper begins to move.
He takes his time.
Slowly, with deliberate patience that feels almost like punishment.
The metal teeth give way one by one, exposing the smooth skin of your back inch by inch, and you can feel his gaze following the progress like a physical touch.
You exhale in frustration.
"Damn it, Jay, speed it up."
Your voice is sharper than you intended.
Behind you, Jay goes entirely still.
"This isn't part of the agreement people think exists between us."
His voice is calm and controlled.
But you can tell that there's something underneath it, something dark and tightly leashed.
You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch his profile in your peripheral vision.
"Neither is the way you keep acting like you're unaffected when you clearly notice everything."
That makes him pause.
The zipper stops halfway down your back.
"Excuse me?"
You turn more fully now, and there's something dangerous in the way his dark eyes meet yours.
You've spent too many nights biting your tongue, too many public events swallowing the words that want to spill out.
Tonight, something in you snaps.
"You deadass just sat there all evening, watching that guy come close to me. You didn’t even bother saying a fucking word at all while he—" You cut yourself off, jaw tightening.
"While he what?" Jay's voice drops lower. "While he looked at you like you belonged to him? While he touched your arm and made you smile? While he spent the entire dinner trying to fuck you with his eyes?"
The crudeness in his tone catches you off guard.
He never speaks like this, never lets the polished veneer slip enough to show the raw hunger underneath.
"Please, just look at your pathetic self," you say quietly, almost to yourself. "You're shaking."
He is.
Just barely, a fine tremor in his hands that he's trying to hide.
"God, it eats me alive."
The confession comes out in a low, controlled voice that cracks at the edges.
"Watching someone else look at you tonight. Having to sit there pretending it didn't matter. Pretending I don't—" He stops himself, jaw clenching so hard you swear you can see the muscle jump.
You should step away.
You should remind him of all the practical reasons this arrangement exists, all the boundaries you've carefully maintained.
Instead, you hear yourself saying:
"Our arrangement was built on exactly that kind of emotional distance."
The words come out pointed, almost cruel.
You're pushing him.
You know damn well you're pushing him.
"Is jealousy really the first thing you've decided to break the rules over?"
Something shifts in his expression.
The mask slips, just for a moment, and beneath it you see something raw and unguarded desperation, maybe.
Want.
Hunger that's been starved for too long.
"It's not just jealousy."
He steps closer.
Close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off his chest, close enough that his breath ghosts across your temple.
"It's the fact that I can't tell anymore where the performance ends and what I actually feel begins."
The words hang between you.
Your heart pounds against your ribs so hard you're certain he can hear it.
This is the closest either of you has ever come to saying it, the thing that's been building for months in loaded glances and accidentally tender moments and nights spent lying awake thinking about the person sleeping in the next room.
Then he reaches for you.
His hand cups your cheek, gentle despite the tension radiating through every line of his body.
His thumb traces the line of your jaw, and his eyes search your face like he's looking for permission, for rejection, for anything that might stop him from doing what he's about to do.
You don't stop him.
He leans in and kisses you.
It starts soft — almost tentative, a question more than a demand.
Then, without warning, you make a sound against his mouth, something small and involuntary, and whatever restraint he had left shatters completely.
His other hand slides into your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss.
The zipper, still halfway down, becomes irrelevant as his hands find your waist, your hips, pulling you against him with an urgency that makes your knees weak.
You feel the hard planes of his chest, the strength in his arms as he holds you, and something hot and demanding pools low in your abdomen.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs against your lips. "Tell me this is just… tell me you don't want this, and I'll walk away. I'll never bring it up again."
You don't tell him to stop.
Because who are you to tell him to stop?
Instead, you reach for the hem of his polo shirt, pulling it up and over his head in one smooth motion.
The fabric falls to the floor, forgotten, and for a moment you just look at him.
The defined muscles of his chest and abdomen, the way the low light plays across his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
"You're staring."
"I'm just appreciating." Your voice is dry, but there's no hiding the way your gaze keeps dropping. "Don't pretend you don't know what you look like."
Something like a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
Then his hands are on you again, sliding the dress off your shoulders, letting it pool at your feet in a whisper of expensive fabric.
You stand before him in a pair of silk shorts, a bra, and underwear, suddenly aware of how exposed you are, how hungry his eyes look as they travel over you.
"Beautiful," he breathes. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this. How long I’ve thought about when this would finally come. About—"
He doesn't finish the sentence.
Instead, he pulls you into another kiss, this one deeper, more demanding.
His hands find the waistband of your shorts and tug them down without hesitation, leaving you in just your undergarments.
The cool air hits your heated skin, but you barely notice because he's looking at you like you're an oasis in the middle of a dessert.
You can see the effect this is having on him.
The prominent outline of his erection pressing against his tailored pants, straining against the fabric.
The way his chest rises and falls more quickly now.
The dark intensity in his eyes that makes you feel both powerful and completely at his mercy.
"Jay." His name comes out as a whisper. "Fuck, just… touch me already, please."
He doesn't need to be asked twice.
His hands slide up your sides, thumbs tracing the curve of your breasts through the thin fabric of your bra.
Your head falls back as he explores, learning the map of your body with agonizing thoroughness.
When he finally unclasps the bra and lets it fall, the sound you make is embarrassingly needy, a soft, desperate whimper that you can't hold back.
"Already making sounds for me?" His voice is rough, pleased. "And I've barely even touched you yet."
"I'm not—" You try to protest, but his hand slides lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear, and whatever you were going to say dissolves into a gasp.
"Oh, you're not what? Not wet? Because I can feel how soaked you are through these panties." He presses his palm against you, and your hips jerk involuntarily. "Feel that? That's all for me, because of me."
Your usual silence is crumbling.
Every brush of his fingers, every press of his palms against your heated skin, pulls another sound from your throat, louder than the last.
For someone who's spent the entire relationship holding your tongue, keeping your thoughts locked away, you're making an awful lot of noise now.
And he notices.
Of course he does.
"You're so vocal tonight." His voice is ragged, thick with desire. "I've never heard you make these sounds before. The quiet, composed woman I'm engaged to, the one who barely says two words at dinner, look at you now. Whimpering for me like I’m all that matters."
"I hate you," you manage, but it comes out breathless and unconvincing.
"No, you don't." He presses a finger inside you, and your knees buckle. "You love this. You love, love, love that I can make you fall apart like this. Damn it, just admit it already, won’t you.”
"I—"
"Admit it."
"Fuck, yes." The word tears out of you, louder than you intended. "Yes, I love it. I love your hands on me so, so much. I've thought about this—about you, god—"
He groans against your neck, the sound vibrating through your whole body. "Tell me. Tell me what you've thought about."
"Your mouth." You're past embarrassment now, past holding back. "Your hands. Shit, how you'd feel inside me. How you'd sound when you lose control, things like that."
"Fuck." He pulls his hand away, and you nearly sob at the loss. "I need to taste you right now, pretty ."
He turns you around, walking you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed.
You fall onto the plush mattress, and he follows you down, settling his weight over you.
For a moment he just looks at you, hair fanned across the pillows, chest heaving, eyes dark with want.
"Tell me what you want," he says. "I’ll hear you out… I need to hear you say it, use your words for me, pretty."
You reach up, palms flat against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your fingers.
"You, god, it’s you, Jay. I want you, all of you, actually. Your mouth, your fingers, your cock—I want everything."
He exhales shakily.
Then he's kissing down your body, lips trailing fire across your collarbone, your sternum, the soft skin of your stomach.
When he hooks his fingers into your underwear and pulls it off, you're completely bare beneath him.
"Spread your legs for me, gorgeous."
The command makes heat flood through you.
You obey, and he settles between your thighs, breath warm against your most sensitive skin.
Then his mouth is on you, and you genuinely forgot how to keep your mouth shut.
A loud, broken moan tears from your throat.
Your back arches off the bed as his tongue works against you, slow, deliberate strokes that make your thighs tremble.
He finds the spots that make you gasp, the pressure that makes your hands fist in the sheets, and he exploits every single one.
"Jay—oh god—oh fuck—"
"That's it." The vibration of his voice against you makes you jerk. "Let me hear you. I want the whole building to know who's making you feel this good."
Your usual silence shatters completely.
Moans and gasps and desperate cries spill from your lips without permission, each one louder than the last.
You can't control it, can't hold back, not when he's doing that with his tongue, not when his hands are gripping your thighs to hold you open for him.
"More, please, please, fuck—don't stop—"
He hums against you, and the pleasure spikes. Your hips roll against his face without your permission, chasing the sensation, and he lets you.
Encourages it, even.
His hands slide under your ass to tilt you closer to his mouth.
"You taste so fucking good," he growls against your flesh. "I could do this for hours, gorgeous. Eat this pretty pussy until you can't think, can't speak, can't do anything but come on my tongue."
The filthy words send a jolt through you.
You've never heard him talk like this, never imagined the composed, controlled man you're engaged to had this side to him.
"You're close, aren't you?" He sucks on your clit, and you scream. "I can feel it. You're shaking. Come for me. Come on my face."
"Jay—Jay—I'm—"
The orgasm crashes through you without warning.
Your whole body seizes, back bowing off the bed as pleasure whites out your vision.
You hear yourself screaming his name, but it sounds distant, muffled by the roaring in your ears.
He works you through it, tongue never stopping, drawing out every last aftershock until you're twitching and oversensitive.
When he finally pulls back, you're trembling and breathless.
He rises over you again, lips glistening with your arousal, and you can see how much this has affected him, the heavy-lidded desire in his eyes, the way his body is straining toward yours.
"I want to be inside you," he growls. "Now, literally now. I can't fucking wait anymore."
He reaches for his pants, undoing them with shaking hands and shoving them down his thighs.
His boxers follow, and then he's naked before you, and you have a moment to appreciate the body he's been hiding under all those perfectly fitted polo shirts.
He's gorgeous.
Lean muscle and defined lines and hard, flushed cock jutting from a nest of dark hair.
Thick.
The tip glistening with precum.
He catches you staring and smirks. "See something you like?"
"Stop fishing for compliments and just fuck me already."
A surprised laugh escapes him, the first genuine sound you've heard from him all night.
Then he's climbing over you, positioning himself at your entrance, and the laughter fades into something much more intense.
"Tell me if you need me to stop."
You nod.
He pushes forward, slowly, letting your body adjust to the stretch.
The sensation is overwhelming, the fullness, the intimacy of being connected like this after months of careful distance.
"Fuck—you're so tight, so sexy." His voice is strained. "So wet, so fucking wet. You're dripping around me."
"Move. Please. I need you to move."
He obeys.
Slow at first, deep strokes that make you gasp with each thrust.
His forehead rests against yours, breath mingling, eyes locked on your face like he's memorizing every reaction.
"You feel incredible." He groans, hips rolling. "Better than I could’ve ever imagined, and I imagined this a lot, baby. Every night. Fucking my fist thinking about you."
"Jay—"
"I'd think about your face when you come. The sounds you'd make. Now… shit—here you are, underneath me, taking my cock so well."
His words make you clench around him, and he hisses.
You're being vocal again, gasps and moans and cries that fill the room, each sound spilling out without your permission.
"You like that? You like hearing how much I want you?" He thrusts deeper, hitting a spot that makes you cry out. "You like knowing that your fake fiancé has been obsessing over you? That I've been desperate to get my hands on you?"
"Yes—yes—fuck, more—harder—"
"Harder?" He obeys, snapping his hips faster. "Like this? You want me to ruin you?"
"Yes! God, yes, ruin me—please—"
His pace increases.
You're being so loud now, louder than you've ever been during sex, louder than you thought possible.
Each thrust punches another sound out of you, and the more noise you make, the faster he goes.
"That's it. Scream for me. Let me hear you." His voice is ragged, barely controlled. "The neighbors are going to know exactly who's making you feel this good. They're going to hear you screaming my name and know that you're mine."
He shifts your leg higher over his hip, changing the angle, and suddenly he's hitting that spot with every thrust.
The pleasure is overwhelming, building inside you like a wave about to break.
"You're going to come for me again, aren't you? I can feel you squeezing me. You're so, so close."
"Yes—so close—please—"
"Fuck, come—come on my cock. Let me feel you."
The orgasm tears through you, even more intense than the first.
You scream his name, back arching, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks.
He groans above you, hips stuttering as your walls clench around him, but he doesn't stop.
He fucks you through it, maintaining the pace, drawing out your pleasure until you're trembling and overstimulated.
"One more," he growls. "Give me one more."
"I can't—too much—"
"You can, you will. For me—just for me."
He pulls out suddenly, and you whimper at the loss.
But then he's flipping you over, pulling your hips up until you're on your hands and knees, face pressed into the pillow.
"This position." His hands smooth over your ass, squeezing. "I've thought about this. Having you like this. Face down, ass up, completely at my mercy."
He pushes back inside in one smooth thrust, and you moan into the pillow.
"No." He tangles a hand in your hair, pulling your head back. "I want to hear you, pretty. Don't muffle those lovely sounds."
He starts moving, harder now, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room.
You're loud again, cries and moans and desperate sounds that echo off the walls.
"You take me so deep like this." His grip tightens in your hair. "Feel that? Feel how deep I am? I'm hitting spots you didn't even know existed."
"Yes—yes—so deep—fuck—"
"This is what you do to me." His hips snap forward, relentless. "You drive me insane. Walking around this penthouse in those tiny ass shorts. Cooking dinner with that concentrated look on your face. Making me want you when I'm supposed to be pretending I don't."
"Jay—"
"I've jerked off to the thought of you more times than I can count. Thought about bending you over every surface in this apartment. About making you scream so loud the whole city knows you belong to me."
His words are pushing you toward another peak.
You're so loud now, practically screaming with each thrust, and every sound you make seems to drive him faster.
"I love hearing you." His voice is strained, desperate. "I love knowing I'm the one making you lose control. The quiet, composed woman everyone else sees—she doesn't exist when I'm inside you. It's just me. Just us."
"Harder—please—I'm going to—"
"Come for me, pretty. Come on my cock again. I want to feel you fall apart."
The third orgasm hits you like a freight train. You scream, body convulsing, and he groans behind you as your walls clench around him.
This time he doesn't hold back, his rhythm becomes erratic, hips pistoning faster, chasing his own release.
"I'm going to come," he growls. "Where do you want it? Inside? On your ass? Tell me—"
"Inside, please—fuck, Jay, I need to feel you—"
He thrusts deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he comes with a guttural groan.
You feel the pulse of his release, the heat flooding your insides, and it triggers one last small orgasm that makes you whimper.
He collapses beside you, both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat.
For a long moment, there's only the sound of your ragged breathing and the distant hum of the city.
Then he laughs, low and exhausted and genuine.
"I had no idea you were that loud."
You bury your face in the pillow, suddenly self-conscious. "I've never—I'm not usually—"
"I'm not complaining." He pulls you against him, pressing a kiss to your temple. "It was the hottest thing I've ever experienced, seriously. Every sound you made just made me want you more."
You're quiet for a moment, tracing patterns on his chest.
"We should do this again," you murmur.
He snorts. "Give me ten minutes and we will."
"That's not what I—" You swat at his chest. "I meant—this. Us, you know… not pretending to hate each other's asses anymore."
His expression softens.
He tilts your chin up, making you meet his eyes.
"I don't want to pretend anymore either. I haven't wanted to for a long time."
"You could have said something."
"So could you."
Fair point.
He rolls onto his side, facing you, one hand propping up his head.
"I have a confession." His voice is lighter now, teasing. "When you said you wanted to 'do this again'—I was hoping you meant right now. I'm not done with you yet."
"Already? Most men need recovery time."
"I'm not most men." He grins, and there's something predatory in it. "And you haven't seen everything I want to do to you yet."
You raise an eyebrow. "Such as?"
"Ride me."
The command makes heat pool in your stomach again, despite your exhaustion.
"You want me on top?"
"I want to watch you. Want to see your face when you take what you need from me. Want to see how pretty you look bouncing on my dick."
"Wow, you’re so eloquent… you have a way with words."
"I have a lot of things." His hand slides down your side, gripping your hip. "And I plan to show you all of them before this night is over."
True to his word, he's hard again within minutes, helped along by your hand wrapping around him, stroking him to fullness while he groans and bit your shoulder.
"Get up here," he demands, pulling you on top of him. "Straddle me. Face me."
You position yourself over him, sinking down slowly.
The angle is different, deeper in some ways, shallower in others, and you have control for the first time in your whole life.
"Take what you want," he says, hands settling on your thighs. "Use me."
You start to move, experimenting with different rhythms and angles.
His eyes never leave your face, watching every expression, every flicker of pleasure.
"That's it. Just like that." His thumbs stroke over your hip bones. "You look so fucking good like this. Taking what you need. Using me for your pleasure."
"You feel—" You break off with a moan as you find the right angle. "So good, so, so, so fucking good. You fill me up so perfectly."
"Made for me." His hands slide up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples. "This pussy was made for my cock. We fit together perfectly like jigsaw puzzles.”
You're getting loud again, moans filling the room as you ride him faster.
He groans beneath you, hips lifting to meet each of your movements.
"That's it, baby. Ride me. Take what you need." He pinches your nipples, and you cry out. "You're so sexy when you're loud. I love hearing how good I make you feel."
"Jay, I'm—"
"Uh-uh, wait for me, gorgeous. I want to come with you this time."
You slow down, trying to hold back, and he growls his approval.
"Good girl. So good for me. You listen so well."
He sits up suddenly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest.
The new angle presses your clit against his pelvis with every movement, and you keen at the sensation.
"I want to feel you fall apart around me while I come inside you." His voice is rough against your ear. "Can you do that for me? Can you come with me?"
"Yes—yes—please—"
"Good. Now."
He thrusts up into you hard, and you both shatter at the same time.
You scream his name as pleasure crashes through you, feeling him pulse inside you, filling you up again.
He groans against your neck, teeth grazing your shoulder, hands tight enough on your hips to bruise.
When it's over, you collapse against his chest, completely spent.
"Round three in five minutes," he murmurs against your hair.
You laugh—weak and exhausted but genuine. "You're going to kill me."
"What a way to go."
But he's not joking.
True to his word, he's hard again within minutes, his stamina is inhuman, and you're beginning to wonder if you've created a monster.
What kind of shit has this guy been pulling off in the gym to achieve so much?
"Turn around," he says, hands guiding your hips. "I want you facing the other way. I want to watch that pretty ass bounce on my cock."
You hesitate. "You want—"
"Now." His voice leaves no room for argument. "I want to see you from behind while you ride me. I want to watch my cock disappear inside you."
Heat floods through you at his words.
You've never been particularly adventurous in bed before, mostly because you've never had a partner who made you want to be.
But Jay is looking at you like you're a feast he's been starved for, and you find yourself turning around, positioning yourself over him with your back to his chest.
"That's it." His hands smooth over your ass, kneading the flesh. "God, look at you. So eager. So desperate for my cock."
You sink down onto him slowly, and the new angle makes you gasp.
He fills you differently like this, deeper in some ways, the pressure concentrated against your front wall.
"Fuck—you feel even bigger like this—"
"I am bigger." He grips your hips, helping you find a rhythm. "And you're going to take all of me. Every. Single. Inch."
You start to move, lifting yourself up and sliding back down.
The sensation is overwhelming, the way he stretches you, the way his hands feel on your ass, the knowledge that he's watching himself disappear inside you.
"That's it. Ride me. Show me how much you want it."
"I do—I want it—want you—"
"Then take it harder. Faster. Fuck yourself on my cock like you mean it."
You obey, moving faster, grinding down with each stroke.
You're loud again, moans and gasps and desperate little cries that fill the room.
True to form, the louder you get, the more responsive he becomes.
"Yes—yes—oh god—right there—"
"Right there?" He thrusts up to meet you, hitting that spot perfectly. "Like this? You want me to keep hitting that spot while you scream for me?"
"Yes! Please—don't stop—harder—"
"Harder?" His grip tightens on your hips, and he starts fucking up into you with purpose. "You want me to ruin this pussy? Make it so no one else will ever feel right inside you?"
You're screaming now, completely beyond controlling the sounds coming out of your mouth.
Every thrust punches another cry from your throat, and you can hear how wet you are, the obscene sounds of your bodies meeting echoing through the room.
"Jay—Jay—I'm—oh fuck—I'm going to—"
"Not yet." He stills your hips, and you whimper. "You don't come until I say. You understand? You hold it."
"I can't—it's too much—please—"
"You can. And you will." He starts moving again, slower this time, torturously slow. "I want to feel you clench around me when I tell you to come. I want you begging for it."
"Please—please, fuck, just let me—"
"Tell me you're mine first."
"I'm yours—I'm yours—only yours—"
"Say it louder."
"I’m yours! Jay, I'm yours—please—please let me come—"
"Good girl. Now come for me. Come all over my cock."
The orgasm crashes through you like a tsunami.
You scream, actually scream, back arching, body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure tears through you.
He moans beneath you, and you feel him pulsing inside, filling you up again as he follows you over the edge.
You collapse forward, barely catching yourself on your hands, breathing ragged and uneven.
He's still inside you, still half-hard, and when he shifts, you whimper from the oversensitivity.
"One more," he growls. "I know you have one more in you."
"Jay, I literally cannot—I can't feel my legs—I… what the fuck are you even made out of?"
"I'll do the work then." He maneuvers you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up so your ass is in the air. "You just lie there and take it. Let me use you."
"Use me?"
"Did I stutter?" He runs a hand down your spine, making you shiver. "I've been fantasizing about you for months. Years, maybe. And now that I have you, I'm going to take everything you'll give me."
He enters you from behind again, this time with your face pressed into the mattress, your hips propped up on a pillow.
The position is sinful, animalistic, and you feel so deliciously full.
"This is my favorite position," he admits, voice strained. "Having you like this. Face down, ass up. Unable to do anything but take what I give you."
"Then give it to me." Your voice is muffled by the sheets. "Give me everything."
He starts moving, slow, deep strokes that make your toes curl.
The sounds you're making are embarrassing now, whimpers and moans and desperate little cries that you can't control.
"You're so loud tonight." He groans, thrusting deeper. "I love it. I love hearing how good I make you feel. The woman who barely speaks at dinner being reduced to this. Screaming my name. Begging for my cock."
"More—please—more—"
"More?" He snaps his hips forward, and you yelp. "Like this? You want me to fuck you harder?"
"Yes! Harder—faster—please—"
He obeys.
His pace increases, and you're being fucked into the mattress so hard the headboard is hitting the wall.
Each thrust is punctuated by a slap of skin against skin and a desperate sound from your throat.
"This what you wanted?" He grunts. "Wanted me to use this pretty pussy? Wanted to be ruined?"
"Yes—yes—ruin me—please—"
"You're close again, aren't you? I can feel you tightening around me. You're going to come on my cock again like a good girl."
"I can't—I've already—"
"You can. You will. And you're going to scream my name when you do."
His hand snakes around to your front, fingers finding your clit, and you sob at the dual sensation.
He's thrusting into you and rubbing circles on your most sensitive spot, and it's too much, it's everything.
"Come for me. Now."
Your final orgasm rips through you with an intensity that makes your vision go white.
You scream his name, scream it like a prayer, like a plea, like the only word you know, and you feel him follow you over the edge with a guttural groan.
He collapses on top of you, both of you shaking, sweat-slicked and thoroughly spent.
For a long moment, there's nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing and the pounding of your hearts.
Later, much later, you're both tangled in silk sheets, bodies exhausted and satisfied.
You've lost count of how many times he's made you come, how many positions he's bent you into, how many filthy things he's whispered in your ear.
"You know," you say, voice hoarse from screaming, "I always thought you were the composed, controlled type."
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "I was. Until you."
"Me? I didn't do anything."
"You exist." His arm tightens around your waist. "You walk around this apartment looking like that. You cook meals in those tiny shorts. You bite your lip when you're concentrating. You exist, and it drives me insane."
You're quiet for a moment, processing this.
"I've been pretending too," you admit softly. "Pretending I didn't notice you. Pretending the arrangement didn't feel like anything."
"And now?"
"Now I don't want to pretend anymore."
He smiles against your skin, genuine and warm.
"Good, I have no intention of letting you go."
"Possessive."
"You love it."
You consider protesting, but then again, he's not wrong.
"Maybe a little."
"Good answer." He shifts, pulling you closer. "Sleep now. I have plans for you in the morning."
"More? What the fuck?"
"Many, many more."
You drift off with his arm around your waist and his breath warm against your shoulder, thinking maybe the arrangement was always going to lead here.
Maybe there was never a version of this story where you remained indifferent to each other.
bf!jay punishing virgin!reader by making you ride him! drabble , wc: 257 words, 1456 characters, inexperienced!reader, kind of mean dom!jay, porn-no-plot.. bigdih!jay, daddy kink, idk what else sowwy, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!! (pls i need requests). this drabble is bad but it ok
“h-how—ahh-“ you gasp, you were at least trying to sit on jay’s thick cock — “nghhh.. i-i can’t-!” you whine, leaning back on your arms, “sure you can, babydoll,” jay spoke slowly “you were acting like a big girl in the store, but now you’re just a little baby?” he coos.
“turns out you’re not a big girl..” he chuckles, running his hand up and down your thigh, gently squeezing your tit with the other one. “you need daddy’s help, eh?” jay speaks up, by now your brain is almost mush, you just wanted — no, needed a release.
“y-yeah-yes, yes i need daddy’s help!” you squeak, now rubbing up down up down on jays cock. “sshit..” he groans, grabbing at your hips, and slowly pushing your soaking hole down on his thick length.
“ah—ahhh! j-jay-! ‘s too much!” you shake, scratching at his thighs, “mhm.. you can take it tho, right baby?” he breathes out while chewing on his lower lip, “fffuckk—squeezing me just right, hm?” jay stifled a moan as you took him completely.
“you can do it, cmonnn move your hips angel..” he groaned, now biting on his bottom lip, “c-can’t-i-it’s waytoomuch!!” you squeal, your eyes squeezing close. “noonoo, none of that.. princess, look at me, yeah?” jay laughs. you’re doing your best trying not to cum just by his intrusion.
you scratch at his arms, shaking violently as you cum around his cock — a slutty moan ripping from your throat, which made jay just chuckle in amusement, gently holding your hand.
“awww, you came from this only? maybe you’ll have a proper orgasm if you behaved..” jay teased, bringing your hand to his lips. “‘msorryyy..” you whine out, already sleepy…
Warnings: Explicit sexual content, MINORS DNI!, rough sex, mating press, creampie, unprotected sex (dont be dumb), sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, possessive behavior, power imbalance, strong language, praise kink, light degradation, marking, overstimulation.
The city lights blurred past the tinted windows of Jay’s sleek black Maybach as it glided through Seoul’s nighttime streets. You shifted against the buttery leather seat, the shopping bags at your feet rustling softly—Dior, Chanel, Cartier. Another night, another fortune spent on you.
Jay’s hand rested possessively on your thigh, fingers tracing lazy circles over the expensive silk dress he’d bought you an hour ago. “You look good in that color,” he murmured, voice low and smooth like aged whiskey. “But I can’t wait to see it on the floor.”
Your breath hitched. This was the arrangement you’d fallen into three months ago: Jay Park, wealthy heir and successful businessman, took care of you completely. Designer clothes, a luxury apartment in the heart of the city, and a black card with no limit. In return, you were his—whenever he wanted, however he wanted.
The car stopped at his private penthouse. Jay didn’t wait for the driver; he opened the door himself and offered his hand like a perfect gentleman. But the moment the elevator doors closed behind you two, the gentleman disappeared.
He pushed you against the mirrored wall, mouth crashing onto yours. The kiss was hungry, demanding. His tongue slid against yours while his hand slipped under your dress, fingers brushing the lace panties he’d chosen earlier.
“Jay…” you gasped as he pressed a thigh between your legs.
“Been thinking about this all day,” he growled against your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point. “Imagining how wet you’d be by the time I got my hands on you.”
The elevator dinged. He lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you inside. The penthouse was all floor-to-ceiling windows, soft lighting, and minimalist luxury. He didn’t bother with the bedroom. Instead, he set you down on the wide marble island in the kitchen, the cool stone making you shiver.
“Spread your legs for me, baby.”
You obeyed, heart racing. Jay stepped back, eyes dark as he drank you in—dress hiked up, hair messy from his hands, lips swollen. He shrugged off his tailored black jacket, unbuttoned the top of his crisp white shirt, revealing the sharp collarbones and smooth chest you loved marking.
He dropped to his knees.
“Fuck, Jay—” Your hands flew to his hair as he pushed your panties aside and dragged his tongue up your slit in one slow, filthy stroke. He groaned at your taste, like he’d been starving for it. Two long fingers pushed inside you without warning, curling perfectly against that spot that made your thighs shake.
“Look at you,” he murmured against your clit, sucking lightly before flicking his tongue faster. “Soaking my fingers already. My pretty little sugar baby gets wet just from shopping, huh?”
You moaned, hips rolling against his face. He ate you out like a man possessed—messy, eager, completely focused on your pleasure. The wet sounds echoed obscenely in the open space. When he added a third finger and sucked hard on your clit, you came with a sharp cry, thighs clamping around his head.
Jay rose, wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand. That cocky smirk made your stomach flip.
“Good girl. But I’m not done with you.”
He pulled you off the counter and turned you around, bending you over it. The sound of his belt buckle sent a fresh wave of heat through you. You heard the zipper, then felt the thick head of his cock rubbing between your folds, teasing your entrance.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, voice rough. One hand gripped your hip, the other fisted your hair gently but firmly.
“You,” you breathed. “Please, Jay. Fuck me.”
He thrust in deep in one smooth stroke, stretching you open. A broken moan left your lips. He was big—thick and long enough to make you feel deliciously full every single time. He started moving, hips snapping against your ass with controlled power.
“Shit, you’re so tight,” he groaned, watching where he disappeared inside you. “Taking my cock so well. This pussy was made for me.”
The slap of skin on skin filled the penthouse. He reached around to rub your clit, driving you toward another orgasm while pounding into you harder. Your breasts pressed against the cool marble, nipples hard. Every thrust pushed you forward, making you grip the edge of the counter.
“Jay—ah—too deep—”
“You can take it,” he growled, leaning over you so his chest pressed to your back. His lips brushed your ear. “You’ll take everything I give you tonight. Gonna fill you up until you’re dripping.”
You came again, clenching around him so hard he cursed. Jay pulled out suddenly, making you whine at the emptiness. He spun you around, lifted you back onto the island, and pushed back inside in one smooth thrust.
“Want to see your face when I cum,” he said, forehead pressed to yours.
His pace turned punishing for a few minutes before he slowed, eyes gleaming with a new idea. He grabbed your thighs and pushed them up, folding you neatly in half until your knees pressed against your chest. The mating press position left you completely exposed and helpless beneath him.
“Oh my god—” you gasped at the new angle. He sank even deeper, the head of his cock pressing right against your most sensitive spot with every thrust.
Jay groaned, the sound low and primal. “Fuck, look at you. Folded so nicely for me.” He braced his hands on either side of your head, muscles flexing as he drove down into you with long, powerful strokes. The position made everything tighter, deeper, more intense. Every thrust made your breasts bounce and forced broken moans from your throat.
“Jay—too much—ahh!” you cried, nails digging into his shoulders.
“You can take it,” he panted, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll feel me for days.” His hips snapped harder, the sound of skin slapping wetly against skin growing louder. He leaned down, folding you even more as he captured your lips in a messy kiss.
The pressure built fast. With your legs pinned and his cock hitting that perfect spot relentlessly, your orgasm crashed over you violently. You clenched around him, vision whitening as you came hard.
“That’s it, baby. Squeeze my cock,” Jay growled. A few more deep, brutal thrusts and he buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name as he came. You felt every thick pulse as he filled you up, hot and endless.
He stayed inside you for a long moment, both of you catching your breath. Slowly, he lowered your legs, but kept them wrapped around his waist as he kissed you softly.
“Still with me?” he asked, voice gentler now.
You nodded, dazed and satisfied. Jay eventually pulled out, watching with dark satisfaction as his release trickled down your thigh. He scooped you up and carried you to the luxurious bathroom. The massive shower turned on with a touch, warm water cascading over both of you as he stripped the rest of his clothes.
Under the spray, he was careful. He washed your body with gentle hands, massaging shampoo into your hair.
“You okay?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“More than okay,” you whispered.
After drying you off, he carried you to his king-sized bed and pulled you against his chest. The city sparkled beyond the windows. Jay reached into the nightstand and pulled out a small velvet box.
“Open it.”
Inside was a delicate gold necklace with a diamond J pendant.
“For you,” he said, clasping it around your neck. His fingers traced the J resting between your breasts. “So everyone knows who you belong to.”
You touched the necklace, warmth blooming in your chest. “Thank you, Jay.
”He smirked, but his eyes were soft. “Don’t thank me yet. The night’s still young.”
He rolled you beneath him again, lips trailing down your neck. His hand slid between your legs, fingers playing with the mess he’d left earlier. “Still so full of me,” he murmured proudly. “Good. I like knowing you’re walking around with my cum inside you.”
You moaned softly as he pushed two fingers back inside, slow and lazy. When he finally replaced them with his cock again, it was deep and unhurried. He held eye contact the whole time, one hand laced with yours.
“Mine,” he breathed between thrusts. “All fucking mine.”
You came whispering his name, and he followed soon after, spilling into you once more.
Later, wrapped in his silk robe and eating expensive takeout in bed, Jay watched you with that signature half-smile.
“You know this isn’t just about the money, right?” he said, feeding you a piece of wagyu. “I like having you here. Spoiling you. Fucking you. All of it.”
You leaned in and kissed him. “I know.”
He pulled you into his lap, the robe falling open. “Ride me this time,” he commanded softly, hands gripping your ass. “Want to watch my pretty sugar baby take what she needs.”
You sank down onto him slowly, moaning at the stretch. Jay’s head fell back, eyes half-lidded in pleasure as you began to move. His hands guided your hips, occasionally sliding up to play with your breasts or tug gently at the diamond J around your neck.
The pace quickened until you both came again, collapsing together in a satisfied tangle of limbs.
Jay kissed the top of your head. “Stay the night. Stay every night.”
You smiled against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”
warnings: mdni! sexual content, teasing, sexual tension, teasing, edging, degradation, mocking, use of pet names, reader rides his guitar, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do it), rough sex, reader is desperate, light choking, crying during sex, creampie.
wc: 16.2k
note: ngl i wrote this for myself (and kind of for this req too). i think i love writing about pathetic yearners because i myself have never fallen in love LMAOOO 😭 i stayed up a whole night just to finish this so i hope it's good...........
for a long time, you had thought you were just waiting for the right kind of soft.
you had tried, too. you had allowed yourself to be taken out to quiet dinners, had sat under warm porch lights, listening to men talk about their lives with gentle, earnest eyes. you had let them hold your hand across small wooden tables, feeling the steady warmth of their palms, and you had waited. you had waited for that sudden shift in the air, that secret hum in the gut that people spent their whole lives writing songs about.
but every time someone leaned in, every time warm lips pressed against yours in the cool night air, it had felt like nothing at all. dry skin against dry skin. a strange, mechanical stillness. it was like watching a match strike through a thick sheet of glass. you could see the heat, could acknowledge the flame, but not a single spark ever managed to reach your skin.
the panic had been quiet at first, a slow burning ache in the back of your throat, before it turned into something suffocating. it wasn't that you were picky. it wasn't that you were holding out for some cinematic ideal. it was the lonely realization that the mechanism inside you was simply broken. your chest was an empty room, dark and quiet, while everyone else seemed to be burning alive.
eventually, you had stopped trying to force a pulse out of stone. you had accepted the dull safety of your own mind.
working at the dive bar had made it easier to forget. the place was always loud enough to drown out the quiet inside your head — sticky floors, the sharp tang of spilt rye, and the dense humidity of too many bodies packed into a low-ceilinged room. you moved through the crowds with a tray tucked under your arm, brushing off clumsy jokes and easy smiles with a polite curve of your lips that never quite reached your eyes. you watched people fall apart over each other every weekend, tangling their fingers together in the dark corners, and you felt like a ghost observing a world you weren't allowed to touch.
watching them was a quiet kind of grief. there was something raw and messy, but violently alive, about the way strangers reached for each other under those flickering neon lights. a bruised knee knocking against another beneath a booth, teeth catching on a lower lip, two people leaning into each other’s space like the air everywhere else was unbreathable. they looked desperate. they looked reckless and stupid and completely undone.
and every time you wove through the narrow aisles with a tray of empty pint glasses, you felt the cold weight of your own detachment settle deeper into your marrow.
you wanted to hate them for it. you wanted to pretend you were above the embarrassing urge to give yourself away to someone else. but you weren't above it. you were just locked out.
you had been entirely immune to it all, safe behind the glass, until thursdays started feeling different.
it hadn't happened all at once. it began with the heavy thud of sound equipment being dragged through the alley door, the sudden smell of rain and cheap tobacco cutting through the stale beer. you hadn't even looked at the stage the first night his band played. you had just been standing by the service well, wiping down a greasy counter, when a low, dirty frequency had bled out of the speakers. it was a vibration so deep it didn't just rattle the floorboards under your sneakers, it had settled directly into the hollow space behind your ribs, making your breath hitch in the dark.
you had looked up then. through the shifting haze of stage lights and the dull fog of the bar, your eyes caught on the guitarist.
he wasn't trying to pull the room's attention. he didn't have that loud need to be perceived that ruined most musicians who played there. he was just leaning over his instrument like it was the only thing in the room keeping him anchored, dark hair falling across his forehead, casting shadows over his sharp features. he wasn't putting on a show. he just played.
when the song ended, he didn't bask in the scattered applause. he just turned his head, exchanged a private word with the drummer, and offered a fleeting curve of his mouth that vanished as quickly as it appeared.
and there, standing by the soda gun with a damp rag clutched in your fist, you felt it.
a crack.
it wasn't an explosion. it wasn't a roaring fire. it was just a tiny fracture in the thick glass that had kept you numb for years. a sudden rush of heat that bloomed at the base of your throat and travelled all the way down to your fingertips. you had swallowed hard, your pulse suddenly loud in your own ears, completely paralyzed by the sheer shock of simply feeling something.
you didn't know his name. you didn't know anything about him. but for the rest of your shift, you couldn't stop your eyes from drifting back to the stage.
it started like that. a silent, harmless curiosity.
but as the thursdays bled into each other, the curiosity hardened into something heavier. you learned his name was jay only because you overheard the bartender shouting it over the noise to hand him his tab. you learned that he drank his whiskey neat, that he had a habit of rolling his sleeves up just below the elbow, and that he existed inside a quiet, untouchable bubble.
he had a pull to him, a natural magnetism that drew people in, but he never seemed to entertain it for long. you watched people try their luck after sets — sliding up to the edge of the stage, offering glossy smiles and lingering touches. he wasn't cold, exactly. he would offer a polite nod, maybe a brief response that you couldn't hear over the music, but he never seemed to let anyone in. he always stepped neatly out of their gravity, turning back to pack up his pedals or heading out the back door to smoke with his bandmates. he was polite, but entirely walled off. a mystery that didn't want to be solved.
and slowly, you found yourself sinking into it.
it was a quiet kind of admiration. the kind that crept up on you in the dead spaces of your shift. you found yourself tracking him in your periphery, anticipating the exact moment he would walk through the front door with his guitar case. you memorized the way his hands moved over the frets, the way his jaw set when he was concentrating, the low, raspy pitch of his voice when he occasionally leaned into the microphone for backing vocals.
you made peace with the silence of it. you didn't need to be the person who walked up to him, you were content to stay behind the bar. it didn't matter that he barely looked your way, or that to him, you were probably just a passing blur in an apron clearing empty pint glasses from his table.
it was a one-sided devotion, completely hidden in the dark. but after years of feeling nothing at all, the sweet ache of simply wanting him was a relief. you finally had a pulse, and you guarded that secret with everything you had.
it became a rhythm you lived by. the rest of your week felt like empty space, a dull stretch of days you just had to wade through until thursday rolled around. you started noticing intricate things. like how the faulty neon sign in the window cast a reddish glow over his leather jacket when he stood by the door. or how he tapped his boot against the base of the mic stand before the first song. the heavy silver rings on his right hand too, dull and scratched under the stage lights.
you felt hyper-aware whenever he was in the building, walking through the room like your skin was suddenly too thin. every time you had to walk past the stage to serve the front booths, your shoulders stiffened and your breath turned shallow. you wondered if everyone could see it — this glaring spotlight of a crush burning inside your chest. but no one noticed. especially not him.
the first time he actually spoke to you, it was entirely mundane.
it happened on a night when the heating in the bar had broken. the air was stifling, thick with humidity and the smell of warm beer. he had just finished his set, leaving his guitar on the stand, and instead of heading out to the alley, he walked straight toward the narrow stretch of the service well where you were refilling the garnish trays.
you didn't hear him approach over the sudden noise of the jukebox filling the silence. you just turned around with a plastic container of sliced limes, and he was suddenly there, leaning a casual arm against the dark wood of the bar.
up close, the sheer gravity of him was suffocating. you could smell the faint trace of tobacco clinging to his clothes, mixed with something clean and sharp beneath it. your heart gave a panicked lurch, hammering against your ribs so hard you thought he might hear it.
"hey." he said. his voice was raspy from singing, carrying that same effortless cadence he used with everyone. "could i just get some water?"
you froze. the container of limes suddenly felt heavy in your hands. out of all the desperate, ridiculous scenarios you had accidentally imagined, simply handing him water hadn't been one of them.
"yeah." you managed to say, but your voice came out thin, strained.
you felt the heat rush violently to your cheeks as you spun back around, fumbling for a clean glass. your fingers were suddenly clumsy, stupid, completely betraying you. you dropped an ice cube on the rubber mat and nearly missed the glass with the soda gun.
he didn't seem to notice your quiet spiral. or if he did, he didn't care. he just waited, looking past you, his dark eyes casually scanning the row of liquor bottles on the shelf, completely untethered, completely calm. to him, this was nothing. just a pit stop.
you set the glass down in front of him, a little too abruptly, water sloshing perilously close to the rim.
"sorry." you mumbled, wiping your trembling hands hastily on your apron, wanting nothing more than for the floorboards to open up and swallow you whole.
he didn't bat an eye. he just pulled the glass toward him, offering that same polite nod he gave everyone else, treating you exactly the way he treated the sound guy, the bouncer, the rest of the world.
"thanks." he murmured.
and then he turned around and walked back to his bandmates, taking all the air in the room with him.
he hadn't lingered. he hadn't really looked at you. the interaction had lasted less than thirty seconds. but as you stood there, gripping the edge of the service well with white knuckles, your chest was heaving like you had just run a marathon.
you felt pathetic. utterly ruined by a man who was just thirsty. but those thirty seconds sustained you for a month.
you hated yourself for it. you spent the following weeks dissecting the interaction until there was nothing left but the humiliating reality that you had practically trembled in front of him, and he hadn't even perceived you as a person. you were just a function. a pair of hands that delivered his glass.
but then, it became a routine.
the next thursday, after the first set, he didn't go to the alley. he didn't go to the wider, less crowded side of the bar where the other bartender was standing idly. he walked straight through the crowd and stopped at your cramped corner of the service well.
he didn't say hey this time. he just leaned his forearms against the sticky wood, his dark eyes fixed on the dirty mirror behind the liquor shelf, and tapped his silver-ringed fingers once against the rubber bar mat.
you didn't ask what he wanted. you just reached for a clean glass, your chest tightening painfully, and poured the water.
he took it, gave that same detached nod, and walked away.
it turned into a silent arrangement. every week, he would come to your exact corner. he never asked your name. he never asked how your shift was going. to you, it felt like you were entirely invisible, just a convenient fixture in the background of his night. he would stand there, chest heaving slightly from the performance, smelling of smoke and sweat, taking up all the oxygen in your immediate radius.
sometimes he would drink it right there, turning his back to you to lean against the bar and survey the room. you would stand inches behind him, trying to remember how to breathe, wiping the same spot on the stainless steel counter over and over just to have something to do with your hands.
it was toxic, this tiny sliver of proximity. you were starving, and he was dropping crumbs without even looking down to see what was eating them.
you rationalized it, of course. it was obviously just convenience. he was a creature of habit. he came to your well because he knew you wouldn't bother him, wouldn't try to touch his arm or shout over the music like the people who hovered near the stage. he came to you because you were practically a ghost. you offered no resistance, no annoying conversation. you were just a silent dispenser of whatever he needed.
but god, you started living for those quiet, devastating minutes.
you started making sure you were anchored at the well right before his set ended, ensuring you wouldn't be called away to a table. you started wearing a little more perfume on thursdays, putting on a darker shade of lip balm, hoping that maybe, just once, his dark eyes would snag on you for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.
they never did. his gaze always slid right past you, completely blank, completely untethered.
the worst part was the accidental touches. it didn't happen often — maybe three times over the course of two months. you would slide the cold glass across the wood, and his large fingers would reach out to take it, the rough pad of his thumb grazing your knuckles.
it was always an accident. it had to be. he would pull the glass away with that same maddening expression, completely unaffected, while the brief contact sent a violent shockwave straight up your arm. your skin would burn for hours where he had touched you for less than a second.
you would spend the rest of the night clutching your serving tray against your ribs, nursing the humiliating agony of knowing that you were completely consumed by a man who couldn't even pick you out of a lineup. you were letting him ruin you, and he didn't even know he was doing it.
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
it was a rainy mid-november thursday, past two in the morning, and the bar had emptied out into the storm outside. the jukebox was off, leaving only the low hum of the beer fridges and the rhythmic patter of rain against the grimy back window. the other bartender had gone to the back office to count the drawer, leaving you alone to wipe down the sticky surfaces.
he hadn't left with his band. he was sitting on a high stool at the far edge of your well, his leather jacket damp from the rain, spinning a wooden match between his fingers.
you were trying to keep your hands busy, rinsing glasses in the sink, your pulse doing that familiar dance against your ribs just knowing he was sitting three feet away. you kept your head down, tucked behind the shield of your hair, praying your face wasn't as flushed as it felt.
when you finally moved to clear the counter in front of him, you reached out to take his empty glass.
his fingers were still loosely curled around the base of the tumbler. you hesitated for a fraction of a second, your breath catching, before carefully reaching for the rim. but as you pulled it toward you, the back of your knuckles brushed against the side of his hand. a tiny, accidental touch.
you froze, expecting him to pull away like he usually did. but he didn't move. instead, he slowly lifted his head. for the first time in months, his heavy lidded eyes travelled up from the wood of the counter and locked directly onto yours.
the world narrowed down to the space between you. up close, in the dim red light of the neon sign, you could see the sharp line of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows, the intoxicating weight of his focus. it was like breathing in smoke.
he didn't look angry, or amused, or bored. he just looked at you, his gaze steady, taking you in while your lungs completely locked up.
"you got a light?" he asked. his voice was a low rasp, stripped of the stage's volume, vibrating softly in the empty room. it hit you right in the center of your chest.
"uh…" you stammered, your voice pathetically small. "yeah. yeah, under the register."
you turned around too fast, your hands trembling so violently you almost knocked over a bottle of bitters. you fumbled beneath the counter, your heart hammering against your collarbone, before your fingers finally caught a small cardboard matchbook.
when you turned back, he was watching you. not with impatience, but with a quiet that made your skin prickle with heat.
you reached across the bar, extending the matches. instead of taking the book by the edge, his calloused hand closed around yours, his thumb brushing over the knuckles of your fingers to take it from your grip. the heat of his skin was shocking, a searing contrast to the cold glass you had been washing.
he didn't let go instantly. for two agonizing seconds, his fingers lingered against yours, holding the matchbook — and your hand — between you.
and then, he pulled back.
you stood there, gripping the edge of the sink behind you with white knuckles, unable to move, unable to think. you watched as he struck the match. the sharp tang of sulfur filled the space between you, the tiny orange flame illuminating the sharp planes of his face for a split second before he brought it to the tip of his cigarette.
he took a slow drag, blew a thin trail of smoke toward the ceiling, and tossed the matchbook back onto the wet wood of the bar.
"thanks." he murmured, his eyes lingering on yours for just one more endless beat.
he slid off the stool, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders, and walked toward the alley exit without another word. the heavy door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet bar with the smell of sweet tobacco and sulfur hanging thick in the air.
you sank against the counter, your knees weak, pressing your burning palm against your chest. you didn't know what it meant. you didn't know if he was just being polite, or if he even remembered your face now that he was out in the rain. but as you stood there in the dark, gasping for air, you knew one thing for certain — the quiet bruise of wanting him had just turned into a fire you had no idea how to put out.
you took the matchbook off the wet bar before you locked up that night. you tucked it into the breast pocket of your apron like a stolen secret, your thumb smoothing over the damp cardboard all the way home on the late night bus. in your small, quiet bedroom, you put it on your nightstand, next to your bed, staring at the charred tips of the few burned matches inside until your eyes burned. it was pathetic. it was the most humiliating thing you had ever done — practically building an altar out of a stranger’s trash.
but the next thursday, the air in the bar felt fundamentally altered.
the invisible line had been crossed, and even if you tried to convince yourself it was all in your head, you couldn’t help feeling hopeful. when his band took the stage, you couldn't even pretend to do your job properly. every muscle in your back was locked, your skin humming with a terrible awareness.
and then, halfway through their third song, it happened.
jay was leaning into a slow riff, his dark hair falling over his face in a beautiful way, when his head tilted. he didn't look at the drunks by the stage. he didn't look at his pedals. his dark, hooded eyes swept straight across the crowded room and locked onto you, standing frozen by the ice well.
it lasted two seconds. maybe three. just an unblinking hold through the stage smoke before he looked back down at his guitar.
your breath hitched so hard you choked on it. you backed into the stainless steel counter, hands gripping the edge, telling yourself you were delusional. he was just looking at the clock behind you. he was just scanning the room. he doesn't see you. but it all tasted bitter in your mouth, because the heat in your face was real, and your heart was hammering a desperate rhythm against your ribs.
when the set ended, he didn't wait for the bar to clear out.
he walked straight to your well while the room was still loud and chaotic. he stepped right up to the narrow gap in the counter where you were standing, taking up every inch of space, leaning his forearms over the wood until he was lingering directly in your personal bubble.
up close, the smell of him — stale rain, sweet tobacco, and warm skin — was an absolute sensory assault.
you didn't wait for him to speak. with trembling fingers, you quickly reached for a clean glass and filled it from the pitcher, sliding it toward him without meeting his eyes. "here." you whispered, your voice barely audible over the jukebox.
but he didn't take the glass.
instead, he just leaned in a fraction of an inch closer, his shoulder almost brushing yours across the narrow divider. he placed his right hand flat on the bar mat, right beside your trembling wrist. close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin.
"didn't even have to ask." he murmured. his voice was a low rumble meant only for you, dropping beneath the noise of the bar. you looked up, trapped, your eyes flying to his.
he was watching you with a quiet intensity. it felt like he was invading your space completely, casually asserting himself over you, letting the weight of his presence suffocate you while you stood there, utterly helpless.
"you always know what i want, y/n?"
the sound of your name on his lips sent a sickening thrill straight down your spine. you hadn't told him your name. you had never introduced yourself. he had simply taken it, learned it in the dark, and was now holding it against your throat like a blade.
"i-" you swallowed, your throat completely bone dry, your mind spinning into a panicked blur. "it's just... you always order water."
an almost imperceptible tilt appeared at the corner of his mouth. not a smile, but something darker.
he finally reached out and grabbed the glass, taking a slow sip as his eyes never left your flushed face, just to set it back down right in front of you. as he turned and walked away into the crowd, you gripped the edge of the sink, gasping for air, completely shocked at the terrifying realization that maybe you weren't a ghost to him anymore.
you spent the next ten minutes in the back room, leaning your forehead against the cool painted cinderblock, dismantling every second of it.
you were actually delusional. your nametag was pinned right to the strap of your apron, faded white plastic with your name scratched into the corner. of course he had just read the tag while waiting for his drink, using it to be vaguely polite, and you had turned it into some profound revelation.
the humiliation was a heavy weight in your stomach, but as you picked up your tray to finish closing, you still couldn't stop the embarrassing flutter in your chest.
by three in the morning, the bar was nearly pitch black, saved only by the dim red glow of the exit sign and the streetlights bleeding through the front glass. the doors were locked, and you were clearing the last of the back booths near the stage, desperately trying to hurry so you could escape into the rain.
you didn't realize he was still there until you rounded the corner of the booth.
jay was sitting alone in the dark leather seat, a half empty glass of amber liquor in front of him, his long legs stretched out into the narrow aisle. his jacket was off, draped over the back of the seat, his dark sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal his beautiful skin. he was staring down at his phone, the light catching the sharp angle of his cheekbone.
you froze, the heavy tray clattering loudly against your thigh. right then, you tried to pull back, to turn around before he noticed you, but your sneakers squeaked against the slick tile.
he didn't jump. he just slowly raised his head, locking those heavy lidded eyes on you through the gloom.
"sorry." you blurted out, the word tumbling out of your mouth way too fast, way too high. "i-i thought everyone was gone. i'm just clearing tables. i mean, obviously you're here. i can come back later. when you're done." you sounded pathetic, babbling and completely transparent.
jay didn't move. he just watched you scramble over your own words, his expression completely unreadable. he took a slow sip of his drink, the ice clinking softly against the glass, taking his sweet time while you stood there burning alive under his gaze.
"i'm done." he said softly. his voice sounded even lower in the empty bar, a lazy purr that seemed to coat the inside of your ears.
you nodded frantically, stepping forward to reach for the empty beer bottles on the far side of his table. but to reach them, you had to lean slightly into his space, your apron brushing against the wooden edge of his booth. you were so terrified of touching him that your hands were shaking again, your fingers fumbling uselessly around the neck of a glass.
"you always seem to be in a rush, y/n." he murmured. it wasn't a question, it was a statement.
"i'm- i just have a lot to clean." you stammered, your eyes fixed firmly on the sticky tabletop, refusing to look at him. "and the bus stops running at three thirty. so. yeah."
"is that why you're trembling?"
the question hit you like a drop of ice water down your spine. you snapped your head up, your mouth falling open slightly.
he was leaning back against the leather, his head tilted, watching you with quiet curiosity. he didn't look mean. he didn't look cold. he just looked like a man who had caught a small animal in a trap and was casually watching it squirm.
"i'm not-" you swallowed hard, your throat locking up. "it's just cold in here."
a dry breath slipped past his lips — not quite a laugh, but close enough to make your face burn with a sudden heat.
he reached out, his long fingers casually picking up the last empty glass on the far side of the table — the one you had been struggling to reach without leaning over him — and slid it across the wood, setting it directly onto your tray.
his fingertips brushed against yours as he let go. just a brief whisper of skin.
"there." he rasped, his dark eyes holding yours with a suffocating intensity. "now you won't miss your bus."
you couldn't even mutter a thanks. you just clutched the tray against your chest, offered a jerking nod, and practically ran toward the back kitchen, your heart hammering so violently against your ribs you thought it might burst right out of your chest.
you were an idiot. a complete, tragic idiot, mistaking a hot guy messing with his waitress for something else. but as you leaned against the sink in the back, listening to the quiet sound of his footsteps heading toward the exit, your skin was still screaming where his hand had brushed yours.
you stood there for five long minutes, pressing the cold water tap against your burning wrists, trying to force your pulse to slow down. it was actually embarrassing. you were an open wound, bleeding out in front of a man who was just bored, amused by how easy it was to throw you off balance. you told yourself to get a grip, to untie your apron, pack your bag, and leave before you made a bigger fool of yourself.
you put your coat on, shoved your hands deep into your pockets, and pushed through the metal back door into the alleyway.
the rain was coming down hard now, slapping against the pavement and washing away the grime of the night. you ducked your head, pulling your collar up around your throat, preparing to sprint the three blocks to the bus stop.
you took two steps before you saw him.
jay was leaning against the damp brick wall right beneath the narrow tin awning, protected from the downpour. you stopped dead in your tracks, your heart dropping straight to the soles of your shoes.
"you missed it." he said softly. his voice didn't carry over the sound of the rain — it sat beneath it, low and raspy, vibrating in the narrow space between the brick walls.
"what?" you stammered, your voice catching in your dry throat.
he didn't answer with words. he just raised his left arm, tapping the face of his watch with his thumb. the faint red glow of the streetlight caught the hands.
three thirty four.
"oh." you breathed. the last bus was gone.
you stood there, exposed in the cold rain, water instantly soaking through the canvas of your sneakers, feeling small and completely stranded. you should have turned around. you should have walked back inside, called a cab, or walked the forty minutes home in the freezing wet. but your feet were glued to the pavement. you were starving, so pathetic and desperate for the heat radiating off him that you couldn't move a single inch away.
jay took a long drag of his cigarette, his dark eyes never leaving your wet face. he didn't offer a ride. he didn't offer an apology. he just watched you drown in the rain, taking up all the dry space beneath the awning like he owned it.
then, without taking his eyes off you, he stepped back an inch, dropping his shoulder slightly toward the brick wall. it was the smallest, most dismissive invitation in the world. a silent command.
your body moved before your brain could stop it. you stepped out of the pouring rain and under the narrow awning, sinking right into his space.
the sudden heat off him was staggering. you could smell his familiar scent, taking over your senses so violently you felt dizzy. you were standing mere inches from his chest, your soaked shoulder almost touching his arm, your breath coming in ragged puffs that misted in the cold night air.
"you're soaking wet." he murmured.
he lifted his hand — the same hand that played those dirty riffs on stage — and brought it to your face.
you flinched, your eyes wide, your lungs seizing up entirely. but he didn't pull back. his knuckles pressed gently against the side of your neck, his thumb deliberately wiping a drop of rain off your cheekbone. the touch was so hot it felt like a brand, sending a exquisite shiver straight down your spine.
"you're freezing too." he rasped, his thumb dragging down to the side of your jaw, pressing just hard enough to feel the frantic hammering of your pulse against his skin.
you wanted to tell him to stop. you wanted to push his hand away and call him cruel for playing with you like this, for holding you under his thumb when you meant absolutely nothing to him. but you couldn't speak. you were drowning in him, your body betraying you so completely that you tilted your head a fraction of an inch into his palm, desperate for a heat you knew you couldn’t have.
the moment you yielded, the moment your skin pressed just a fraction of an inch heavier into his palm, a terrifying heat rushed straight down to your core.
it was sudden, a warm pull in your lower belly that made your knees feel completely useless. you had never felt this before — this raw, desperate spike of arousal just from a thumb brushing your jawline. you were completely swallowed up by the sight of him. you took in the sharp line of his throat as he tilted his head, the rain-dampened strands of hair falling over his forehead, the beautiful shape of his mouth. he was a walking disaster. he smelled like dark tobacco and rain, and he felt like the one thing you had been starving for your entire life.
he held his hand there for three agonizing seconds. you could feel the rough calluses on his fingers holding you in place while your breath hitched erratically. he was studying your face, taking in the dilated state of your pupils and the pathetic parting of your lips.
a low hum vibrated in the back of his throat. and then, with agonizing slowness, he dropped his hand.
the absence of his touch was like a physical blow. the freezing alley air slammed back against your wet skin, and a quiet gasp slipped out of your mouth before you could bite it down. your body actually jerked forward a fraction of an inch, subconsciously chasing the heat of his palm, before you caught yourself and stiffened.
you prayed he hadn’t noticed. he probably hadn’t noticed.
jay lifted his cigarette back to his lips, taking a slow drag. he leaned his head back against the brick, watching you shiver under the awning. he looked entirely untouched by the rain, completely in control, while you were falling apart at the seams. it was intoxicating. the fact that he could reduce you to a trembling, aching mess without even trying made you want to press yourself directly against his chest and let him ruin you completely.
"so what's the plan, y/n?" he rasped, blowing a thick stream of smoke over your head. "you're just going to stand here and freeze?"
you wrapped your arms tightly around your own waist, hugging your damp coat against your body, trying to hide the way your chest was heaving. "i don't... i don't know. i'll figure it out."
"the buses are done." he stated, his tone flat. he wasn't looking at you with pity. he was just observing a fact, watching you squirm under the weight of it.
"i know." you swallowed hard, your voice shaking. "i can walk."
his dark eyes flicked down to your soaked sneakers, then slowly dragged back up the length of your body, lingering for a fraction of a second on the frantic pulse at your throat. a faint scoff left his chest.
"you're not walking." he murmured.
he didn't ask. he didn't offer to be a gentleman. he just dropped his cigarette onto the wet concrete, crushing the orange ember beneath the heel of his boot. he stepped away from the wall, his broad shoulders shifting as he adjusted his leather jacket.
"my car's parked on fourth." he said, his voice dropping into that authoritative cadence.
he turned his back to you and stepped out into the freezing rain. he didn't look over his shoulder to see if you were following. he didn't hold out a hand or wait for you to agree. he just walked into the dark, seemingly knowing with absolute certainty that you had no willpower left.
and as the pulsing ache in your stomach twisted even tighter, you stepped out from under the awning and followed him into the rain without a second thought.
the walk to his car was a blur of cold rain and slick pavement. you kept your eyes fixed on the broad line of his shoulders, terrified that if you stopped for even a second, you would wake up and realize you were still alone in the alley. he stopped next to a dark sedan, unlocking it with a sharp click that cut through the sound of the storm.
you slipped into the passenger seat, the door shutting behind you and instantly swallowing the noise of the rain.
the silence inside the car was deafening. the interior was pitch black, but it smelled exactly like him — worn leather, lingering stale smoke, and that sharp scent that made your head spin. a second later, the driver's side door opened, and he folded himself into the seat beside you, bringing a gust of cold air with him.
he didn't put the key in the ignition. he didn't start the engine. he just sat there in the dark, his large hands resting loosely on the steering wheel, staring out the rain-slicked windshield.
you sat rigidly, your damp coat clinging to your skin, your knees pressed tightly together as you tried to suppress a violent shiver. the proximity was suffocating. in the narrow space of the front seat, his physical presence felt massive, a heavy gravity pulling on every nerve ending in your body.
"you didn't even hesitate." he said suddenly. his voice was low, filling the enclosed space until there was no room left to breathe.
you swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the damp fabric of your jeans. "what?"
"i told you i was parked on fourth, and you just followed me into the dark." he turned his head slowly, the dim glow of a distant streetlight casting sharp shadows across his face. "you always this trusting, y/n?"
the word hit you directly in the stomach, a hot pull that made your thighs ache. "i was freezing. and you offered to drive me."
he didn't say anything to that. he just watched you for a quiet moment. then, he shifted in his seat, leaning across the center console.
your breath hitched. your body instantly braced for the heat of his touch, your chest tightening in desperate anticipation as his broad shoulder eclipsed your vision. but his hand just brushed past your trembling knee, his knuckles grazing your wet denim, to flick a dial on the dashboard.
the heater roared to life, blasting warm air over your freezing legs.
he leaned back into his own space, leaving you entirely bereft. you hated how badly you had wanted his hand to land on your thigh. you hated how obvious the sharp intake of your breath had been.
"you shouldn't get into cars with guys you don't know." he murmured, his voice a lazy drawl over the sound of the fan.
"i know you." you tried to sound steady, but your voice came out breathless and weak, betraying exactly how rattled you were.
jay let out a quiet sound — a rough exhale that vibrated deep in his chest. "you know my drink order, sweetheart. you don't know me."
the nickname made your stomach drop, somehow feeling more condescending than sweet. the words hung heavy in the warm air, because you couldn't argue with him. you didn't know his last name, didn't know where he lived or what he was like when he wasn't dragging those riffs out of his guitar. you didn't know anything real about him at all.
but you knew the exact shape of his hands. you knew the way his throat moved when he swallowed. you knew that you were sitting in his passenger seat, soaking wet, practically vibrating with need just because his eyes were on you. it was a terrifying, blind obsession, and you were completely powerless to stop it.
he watched you fall silent, his dark eyes dropping slowly to the frantic pulse jumping beneath the wet collar of your shirt. he watched it beat for a long second, the silence stretching so tight you thought it might snap. he didn't mock you. he just observed you, taking in the absolute mess he had reduced you to with nothing more than his proximity.
he finally reached down and turned the key in the ignition. the engine rumbled to life, a deep vibration that rattled the floorboards and shot straight up your spine.
"so," he murmured, resting his arm casually on the back of your seat, his fingers brushing the wet ends of your hair. "where am i taking you?"
you rattled off an address that was fifteen minutes away across town, the name of the street barely making it past the nervous knot in your throat.
he didn't say a word. he just pulled the gearshift down, his knuckles brushing dangerously close to your knee, and eased his car out into the empty streets.
the drive was excruciating. you pressed yourself as far into the passenger door as you could, staring out the window at the blurred city. but you couldn't escape him. the car was entirely his domain, saturated with his scent and the brooding quiet he carried everywhere. looking out the window didn't help either — the wet glass just acted like a mirror against the dark night, reflecting the sharp line of his jaw, the relaxed slump of his shoulders, the careless way he drove with one hand resting at the bottom of the steering wheel.
his other hand was still resting on the center console. right in the narrow space between your seats, mere inches from your thigh.
the hypnotic sweep of the windshield wipers was the only sound in the car besides the low roar of the heater. the warm air was slowly thawing your frozen skin, but the heat pooling low in your stomach had absolutely nothing to do with the temperature.
he stopped at a red light. the car idled with a deep purr that vibrated up through the floorboards.
jay shifted his hand on the console, his long fingers tapping a slow rhythm against the dark plastic. every time his hand moved, your eyes darted toward it, completely hypnotized by his silver rings glinting in the low light of the streetlamps.
he caught you looking. his eyes flicked from the windshield to you, catching your gaze in the reflection of the glass before you could tear it away.
"you pay a lot of attention." he murmured into the quiet.
you flinched, your fingers tightening around your damp coat. you didn't look at him, you just stared straight ahead at the rain hitting the glass. "what?"
"on thursdays." he clarified softly, his voice a gravelly hum that seemed to wrap itself right around your throat. "you always stand in the exact same spot by the ice well. you don't talk to anyone, you just watch. right?"
your heart gave a sickening lurch, hammering against your ribs like it was trying to break out. he knew.
the panic seized your chest, but beneath it, a dark wave of arousal rushed straight down your body.
because he was right. you did watch. you had spent months completely consumed by the way he played, memorizing every microscopic detail. you knew how his large hands slid down the neck of the guitar, fingers pressing effortlessly into the frets. you knew the exact moment his eyes would slip shut during the bridge of that one slow song, lost in the dragging rhythm. you knew the way his hips moved when he leaned into the microphone, a slow sway that made your mouth go completely dry.
every thursday, you stood in the dark and let the deep bass of his guitar rattle around in your chest, imagining what those hands would feel like mapping out the shape of your waist instead of the instrument. you had spent hours agonizing over what that kind of intense focus would feel like directed solely at you, letting the thought pool hot and heavy between your thighs until you could barely stand the friction of your own jeans.
but you couldn't just tell him that. "it's a small bar." you lied, your voice wavering pathetically. you swallowed hard, trying to sound indifferent, trying not to let him hear how badly you were shaking. "there's nowhere else to look."
jay didn't argue. he didn't call you a liar or push you to confess. he just let out a quiet exhale that sounded entirely too much like a laugh.
the light turned green. he looked back at the road and hit the gas, the sudden acceleration pressing you deep into the leather seat.
he didn't take his hand off the center console. instead, he shifted it just a fraction of an inch closer, his knuckles grazing the damp fabric of your coat where it spilled over your leg. he just left his hand there, hovering in the agonizing space right beside your thigh in absolute silence.
when the car finally rolled to a stop near your apartment building, the deep rumble of the engine stayed alive between you. you gripped your bag tightly, your knees pressed together under your wet coat, desperate to escape before your body gave you away completely.
"this is me." you murmured, your voice breathless. "thanks again. for the ride."
you reached for the handle, but before your fingers could pull it, his voice cut through the dark.
"you didn't ask why i was out there."
you froze, your hand hovering over the cold plastic latch. "what?"
jay shifted in the driver's seat, resting one wrist over the top of the steering wheel. the light from the streetlamp caught the sharp angle of his jaw, his heavy eyes fixed entirely on you.
"in the alley." he said, his voice a low rasp. "you just stepped under the awning like you were expecting me to be standing there."
your heart gave a sickening thud against your ribs. a sudden rush of heat pooled low in your stomach, heavy and aching.
"i- i wasn't expecting you." you answered, the words tripping helplessly over your tongue. "i thought you were just smoking."
"i finished my cigarette ten minutes before you walked out the back door." he murmured.
the air left your lungs in an instant. your mind raced into a dizzying tailspin. did he wait for you? why would he wait for you? you tried to convince yourself it was a coincidence, that he was just killing time, but the deliberate way he was watching you made your throat go completely bone dry.
"then... why were you waiting?" you whispered, the question slipping out before you could stop it, pathetic and fragile in the quiet car.
jay didn't answer right away. he slowly leaned across the center console, taking up all the air in the vehicle, bringing the suffocating heat of his body right into yours. you braced your back against the passenger door, your chest heaving, your pulse hammering violently in your ears.
he didn't touch you. he just rested his forearm against the top of your seat, his fingers trailing so close to your shoulder that you could feel the heat radiating off his leather jacket.
"why do you think, y/n?" he rasped softly.
the proximity was agonizing. up close, you could see his beautiful features and the dark intensity in his eyes. you wanted so desperately to say something — anything — to bridge the inch between you, to tilt your head up and sink into him. you were starving for it, completely undone by the mere possibility that he wanted you back.
but the fear was bigger. the humiliating certainty that you were just reading into things, that he was playing with a clearly anxious woman who didn't know how to handle him.
"i don't know." you stammered, your eyes dropping helplessly to his lips before darting back to his eyes.
jay stared at you for two endless beats, taking in the flushed heat on your face, the breathless parting of your lips, the absolute ruin he had made of your composure.
an imperceptible tilt appeared at the corner of his mouth. "liar." he murmured softly.
before you could process the word, his hand moved, his thumb casually reaching out to drag over the sharp line of your collarbone — just a fleeting stroke of skin that sent a shockwave directly down your spine — before he reached past you and clicked the door handle open.
the cold night air rushed into the car, snapping the suffocating heat between you like a twig.
jay pulled back into his seat, his large hands settling back onto the steering wheel, completely unbothered, his face a mask of calm composure.
"go inside." he said quietly, looking back out at the rain-soaked street. "you need some sleep."
you sat there, paralyzed, your body throbbing with an unfulfilled ache, your heart slamming against your chest. he had left you completely exposed, dangling on the edge, and pulled back without a second thought.
"goodnight, jay." you choked out.
you scrambled out of the car into the freezing rain, your knees so weak you practically stumbled up the steps to your building. as you fumbled with your keys in the dark doorway, your skin still burning where his thumb had touched you, the sound of his engine faded into the night — leaving you alone in the cold, utterly consumed.
⋆.˚˖࿔ ࣪
the seven days between thursdays felt less like a week and more like a slow fever.
your sleep schedule was done for. every time you closed your eyes, you were back in the dark interior of his car, feeling the phantom heat of his thumb dragging over your collarbone, hearing that soft liar echoing in your ears. the humiliation of bracing for a kiss he never gave you burned like an open wound, but the sickening hunger it left behind was a thousand times worse.
by ten o'clock the following thursday, the bar was a suffocating wall of heat, noise, and smoke. you spent the entire set doing everything in your power to avoid looking toward the stage. you kept your head down, aggressively wiping down the wooden counters, restocking glasses, pretending you were entirely immune to his presence. but your body betrayed you at every turn. the heavy rumble of his guitar vibrated straight through the floorboards, shooting directly up your spine and settling in the pit of your stomach.
the second their last song ended, you grabbed an empty ice bucket and escaped down the dimly lit back hallway toward the stainless steel ice machine.
the back hallway was quiet, smelling of damp concrete and cold metal. you shoved the bucket under the chute and hit the lever, the loud avalanche of crushing ice filling the silence. you leaned your forehead against the cold material, closing your eyes, taking a deep breath to force your pulse to slow down.
"you missed the solo." the voice came from the dark shadows behind you — low and unhurried. you snapped your head up, your heart leaping straight into your throat.
jay was leaning his broad shoulder against the damp brick wall a few feet away, his arms folded loosely across his chest. he had just come off stage; his dark hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead, and his usual black shirt was unfastened at the top, revealing the sharp line of his chest. he looked completely relaxed while you instantly unraveled.
"i was working." you stammered, your fingers tightening around the edge of the metal bucket until your knuckles turned white.
"you were working last week, too." he murmured, his voice a smooth rasp. "didn't stop you from staring then."
a hot wave of heat rushed up your neck, burning your cheeks. you tried to swallow, but your throat was dry. "i wasn't staring."
jay didn't argue. he just pushed off the brick wall with effortless grace, taking two slow steps toward you.
the space between you vanished in an instant. the sheer size of him in the narrow hallway was suffocating. he brought a staggering wall of heat with him — saturated in that intoxicating scent of fresh sweat, tobacco, and warm skin that made your head spin. it felt like your senses were made to betray you, every instinct sharpening and blurring at once until all you could register was him standing there, stealing the air from your lungs without saying a word.
you pressed your back flat against the cold metal of the ice machine, completely trapped.
"you're terrible at lying, y/n." he murmured softly.
he didn't touch you, but he reached past your waist, his long fingers resting casually on the edge of the ice machine right next to your hip. he leaned in slightly, his broad shoulders blocking out the hallway light.
"i'm not lying." you whispered, though your voice cracked pathetically on the last word. up close, the sight of him was overwhelming. you took in the dark fringe of his eyelashes, the faint sheen of moisture on his throat, the beautiful shape of his lips. you were practically starving for him to bridge the inch between you, desperate to feel those heavy hands on your body.
jay tilted his head, his dark eyes slowly sweeping over your face. "why didn't you look at me tonight?" he asked softly, his tone completely neutral, as if he were asking about the weather.
"you told me i watch too much." you choked on the words, your eyes helplessly dropping to his mouth before darting back to his. it was becoming a bad habit at this point.
an almost imperceptible tilt appeared at the corner of his sharp mouth. "i said you pay attention." he corrected, his voice dropping an octave, slipping over your skin like velvet. "i didn't tell you to stop."
the words hit you directly in the stomach, a hot pull that made your inner thighs press tightly together beneath your apron. your mind completely short-circuited. you stood there, paralyzed, drowning in the absolute control he held over you.
he lifted his other hand — slowly, agonizingly slow — and let his knuckles lightly graze the side of your neck.
the touch sent a blinding shockwave straight down your spine. a soft gasp slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it. you tilted your head just a fraction of a millimeter into his hand, completely surrendered, silently begging him to take more, to press you against the cold metal and ruin you right there in the dark.
but he didn't pull you closer. instead, his thumb lightly dragged up over your jawline, holding you captive in the dark for one more breathless second.
"your ice is overflowing." he rasped softly, his breath fanning hot against your mouth.
and then, he stepped back.
the sudden absence of his touch was a physical blow. the cold hallway air slammed back against your skin, leaving you feeling entirely breathless and humiliated.
you looked down with wide, unspooling eyes. the ice machine was overflowing, cold cubes spilling over the rim of the bucket and clattering onto the concrete floor around your shoes.
jay stood there, completely unbothered, his composure completely intact as if he hadn't just brought you to the absolute edge of sanity. he casually shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans.
"see you around, y/n." he murmured indifferently. he turned his back to you and strolled down the hallway, disappearing back into the crowded bar without a single glance over his shoulder.
you slid down the front of the ice machine until your knees hit the cold floor, clutching your arms around your waist, shivering uncontrollably. your skin was still burning, your body throbbing with a desperate feeling you had never experienced before.
he was playing you like an instrument. the anger didn't arrive all at once, starting as a bitter burn in the pit of your stomach while you picked ice cubes off the floor, tossing them one by one into the drain.
he was doing it on purpose. the thought took root, cold and ugly, pulling you up off your knees. it wasn't an accident. it wasn't just a string of awkward coincidences or a series of moments where you happened to misread the room. the deliberate way he moved into your space, the exact second he chose to drop his touch — it was calculated. he pushed just far enough to watch you break, to feel your pulse go erratic against his skin, and then he pulled away the second you offered yourself up to him.
he was entertaining himself. you were just a pathetic waitress at a bar, practically begging a stupidly hot guitarist to notice her, giving him an ego boost on his walk out to the alley.
and yet, as you hoisted the heavy bucket back up to your hip, a sickening wave of doubt crashed over your anger, drowning it out.
what if he wasn't? what if you were completely insane? what if he was just an indifferent, naturally invasive man who stepped into people's personal space without thinking twice about it? what if every single drop of tension you felt was a pathetic fantasy you had constructed inside your own lonely head?
the thought made your face burn hotter than the humiliation. you were torn straight down the middle — half of you furious at him for being a sadistic bastard, the other half utterly disgusted with yourself for being delusional enough to think he gave a damn.
by two in the morning, the main floor had finally drained of people.
you were behind the counter, desperately praying you could just finish up and escape into the cold night air. right in that moment, jen, the server who was supposed to lock up with you, rushed out of the back hallway, clutching her coat.
"y/n, i am so, so sorry." she breathed, looking panicked. "my sister just called. her car overheated on the highway and she's stuck on the shoulder. can you please finish wiping down and lock the back door? the drawer is already counted."
"yeah... go ahead." you murmured, forcing a small smile despite the sudden drop in your stomach. "drive safe."
she thanked you three times and bolted out the front entrance, the door clicking shut behind her.
you were alone. or at least, you should have been.
you couldn't set the alarm or lock the rear exit because jay was still inside. the rest of his band had picked up the amps ten minutes ago, their voices long faded down the alley, but jay hadn't left.
he was sitting on a tall stool in the far, shadowy corner near the empty stage, a single overhead light allowing you to see him. he had his electric guitar resting against his hip — unplugged and quiet. his fingers were sliding over the frets, dragging out lazy riffs that vibrated through the empty room.
the sound was hypnotic. it echoed softly against the bare brick walls, that dragging rhythm that always shot straight down your spine.
you were supposed to be cleaning, but you were completely paralyzed. you stood behind the bar with the damp rag clutched in your hand, mesmerized by the effortless way his fingers moved over the dark instrument. you hated him for it. you hated how easily he held you captive without even looking at you, how a few lazy notes from his hands could make your knees feel hollow.
and then, the music stopped. a single string vibrated into silence. slowly, jay tilted his head back, his dark eyes locking onto yours across the empty room.
a lazy, mocking smirk spread across his lips. "still paying attention, sweetheart?" he rasped. his voice carried effortlessly through the quiet bar, laced with a condescending warmth. "thought you said there was nowhere else to look."
a stinging heat rushed up your neck, burning your cheeks. you gripped the rag tighter, your jaw setting in a rigid line. "i'm waiting for you to leave so i can lock up."
"are you?" he slowly unstrapped his guitar, resting it against the stool with agonizing slowness. he didn't look bothered. he didn't look tired. he looked like a predator who had just spent the last two hours watching you squirm in a cage he built for you.
he shoved his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans and began walking slowly toward the bar. every step he took sent your heart hammering violently against your ribs. you stood your ground behind the mahogany counter, trying desperately to look cold, distant, and unbothered. but as he drew closer, the sheer physical weight of his presence started stripping away your meager defenses.
he didn't stop on the other side of the counter. without taking his eyes off you, jay reached down, unlatched the small wooden gate at the side of the bar, and stepped straight into your space.
the sound of his boots against the floorboards behind the counter was a shockwave. people weren't allowed back there. it was the one physical barrier that kept you safe from him, and he had just shattered it without a second thought.
"jay-" you stammered, your composure instantly fracturing as you backed up until your thighs slammed against the low liquor display behind you. "you can't be back here."
"make me leave, then." he murmured smoothly.
he didn't stop until he was towering directly over you in the narrow aisle, blocking out the light, trapping you between his broad chest and the glass bottles behind you. the sudden heat coming off his body was overwhelming.
he looked down at you, his eyes utterly ruthless as he took in your heaving chest and the pathetic way your breath was hitching in your throat.
"you look annoyed, y/n." he rasped, a mocking chuckle vibrating deep in his chest. "what's the matter?"
the words hit you like a slap, raw and humiliating, laying your most embarrassing secret completely bare. your mouth parted in a sharp gasp, your eyes wide with shock. "i- i’m not-"
"lying again? mmh?" he purred softly, cutting you off before you could even build a defense.
he reached out, his fingers taking the damp rag out of your trembling hand and tossing it carelessly over his shoulder onto the sink. your hands were left completely empty, completely exposed.
"you've been standing in the dark watching me for months, haven’t you?" he rasped, stepping half an inch closer until the front of his unbuttoned shirt pressed directly against your apron. "you practically shook out of your clothes when i put my hand near your leg in the car. and when i touched your neck by the ice machine, you tilted your head right into it. aren’t you such a desperate little thing?"
every single word was a cruel sentence, destroying any remaining delusion that it had all been in your head. he had known the entire time, and he was taking immense pleasure in watching you drown in it.
you felt a tear of overwhelming frustration sting the back of your eyes. "you're being an asshole, jay." you choked out, your voice trembling with a mixture of intense anger and something else you didn’t want to accept.
jay didn't flinch. his smile only widened, turning dark and entirely devoid of mercy. "maybe." he murmured softly.
he slowly raised his hand, his calloused palm sliding up your throat, his fingers wrapping firmly around the back of your neck. his grip was warm and absolute, tilting your face up until your lips were mere millimeters from his. "but you're still shaking for me, from just playing a few notes." he rasped, his thumb pressing deliberately over your frantic pulse, feeling the absolute ruin he had reduced you to. "you hate it, but you want me so bad you can barely stand up. don't you?"
your mouth parted, but no sound came out. you wanted to deny it, to tear his hand away from your neck and spit some lie about how he was conceited, how you didn't care. but his thumb was pressing so firmly against your throat, feeling the chaotic rhythm of your heart betraying every single thought. you were completely exposed, pinned against the low display shelf, with his dark-clothed body trapping you in.
"i..." you choked out, your eyes darting helplessly to his lips before flying back to his mocking eyes.
"that's what i thought." he murmured, his voice a low purr of absolute victory. he slowly let his hand slide down your neck, his knuckles dragging over your collarbone with agonizing slowness before he stepped back, taking that heat with him. you felt a cold shiver run down your spine at the sudden loss of his touch.
he looked down at you, his gaze sweeping over your flushed face and your trembling hands, a slow smirk playing on his lips.
"you're a mess, y/n." he rasped softly, his tone laced with a teasing warmth. "i have my amp setup at my place." he murmured, leaning his hip against the bar, looking entirely relaxed while you were practically vibrating. "since you like watching so much, come back with me. i'll play for you. privately."
the condescending arrogance of his voice should have made you scream. he was being an absolute asshole, treating you like some easy toy he could wind up and watch spin. you knew you should say no. you knew that going to his apartment was walking straight into a trap where he would keep pulling the strings.
but the hunger inside you was a physical sickness. it had been building for seven long days, for months of thursdays in the dark, and you were too weak to fight it.
"okay." you whispered, your voice pathetically small.
jay's smirk widened, dark and possessive. "mmh. grab your coat."
the drive was a silent torture. the rain lashed against the windshield of his car, the steady scrape of the wipers doing nothing to ease the suffocating tension in the small space. jay drove with one hand, looking completely unbothered, while you sat frozen in the passenger seat, your hands knotted tightly in your lap, your mind spinning in a dizzying loop of anticipation and shame.
when he finally unlocked the door to his loft, the darkness of his space swallowed you whole. it smelled heavily of tobacco, old wood, and the warm scent of his skin.
he didn't take his leather jacket off. he just walked over to a low leather couch, leaving the lights off except for the dim streetlamp glow filtering through the wet windowpane. he picked up his electric guitar, plugging it into a small amp on the floor. the low hum of the electricity filled the room, making your pulse spike.
"sit." he commanded softly, gesturing to the edge of the low table right in front of him.
you slowly crossed the room, your knees shaking so badly you could barely keep your footing. you sat down on the edge of the wood, your knees practically touching his denim-clad thighs.
jay didn't wait. his fingers settled over the strings as he began to play.
it wasn't the loud music from the stage. it was a slow, dragging, incredibly dirty riff. the distorted notes vibrated right through the floor, straight up through the table, settling like liquid fire directly between your thighs. the sound was hypnotic, wrapping around your senses until you couldn't think, couldn't breathe, your eyes locked onto the effortless movement of his hands.
he looked up through the dark fringe of his hair, his dark eyes locking onto yours as he kept playing, his fingers sliding over the frets with agonizing precision.
"look at you." he rasped over the low hum of the guitar, a toxic smile curving his lips. "you're practically dripping just from the sound of it, aren't you?"
"jay, i..." you whispered, your chest heaving, the friction of your own jeans against your aching core becoming completely unbearable. the music was winding you so tight you felt like you were going to snap.
"what is it, sweetheart?" he teased, his fingers plucking a deep chord that sent a literal shiver straight down your spine. "you wanted me to play for you. you've been dreaming about this. watch my hands, y/n. tell me what you want them to do to you."
the agonizing teasing was too much. you leaned forward, your hands gripping his knees, your eyes wide and pleading in the dark. "put it down. please."
jay didn't put the guitar down. instead, he stopped playing, the last distorted note echoing into the dark corners of the room before dying out. he looked down at your hands clutching his knees, his dark eyes glinting with a slow amusement that made your stomach twist.
"put it down?" he murmured, his voice a gravelly rasp. "why would i do that when you're paying such close attention?"
he slowly raised his right hand. pinched between his long fingers was his guitar pick — a small, thin piece of black plastic, still warm from his grip.
you stared at it, your breath hitching as he brought it toward your face. he didn't touch you with his hand. instead, he used the flat edge of the pick to trace the line of your lower lip. he dragged it slowly, deliberately, pulling the sensitive skin down just enough to force a quiet gasp from your mouth.
"you want my hands so bad." he whispered, his eyes locked on your parted lips as he slid the pick down your chin, tracing the sensitive skin of your throat. "but you haven't earned them yet."
the sharp edge of the plastic felt like fire against your heated skin. you shivered, your eyes fluttering shut as he dragged the pick further down, slipping it past the collar of your shirt, tracing the valley between your breasts, and then down, down, until he pressed it firmly against the seam of your jeans.
an agonizing throb bloomed between your thighs. you whined, your hips instinctively twitching upward, begging for the pressure, but jay immediately pulled the pick away, letting out a soft chuckle.
"so impatient." he teased, his voice dropping into a velvet purr. "since you love my music so much, i think we should let the guitar do the work."
before you could process his words, jay reached out. his hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he easily lifted you off the edge of the table.
you thought he was pulling you onto his lap. you thought you were finally going to get the friction you were starving for.
but as he sat you down, he didn't pull you against his thighs. instead, he guided you right over the solid body of his electric guitar.
your breath left your lungs in a violent shock. you were straddling the hard wood of the instrument, the cool finish pressing directly against your soaking wet center through the thin fabric of your jeans.
"jay-" you gasped, your hands flying to his broad shoulders to steady yourself.
"shhh." he murmured, his hands wrapping firmly around your hips, pinning you down so you couldn't pull away. "stay right there."
he reached around your body, his long fingers settling over the fretboard and the strings behind you. you were completely caged by his arms, trapped on top of the instrument, your face buried in the crook of his neck. you could smell the intoxicating scent of his warm skin, so close you could taste it.
and then, jay struck a low, heavy chord.
the electric guitar was plugged into the amp on the floor. the distorted sound didn't just fill the room — it vibrated violently through the solid wood of the guitar's body, shooting a physical shockwave of vibration directly into your pelvic bone, straight to your sensitive core.
your back arched off him, a helpless cry tearing from your throat as your head fell back. the unexpected intensity of the vibration sent a blinding wave of pleasure straight to your brain, making your inner thighs tremble uncontrollably.
"do you like that, sweetheart?" jay rasped in your ear, his voice laced with a cruel warmth.
he struck another chord, a slow, dragging rhythm. the vibration hummed continuously against your wet denim, winding you so tight you felt like you were going to snap. you began to move, your hips instinctively grinding down against the hard wood of the guitar, desperate to chase the friction.
but jay's hands tightened on your hips, holding you perfectly still.
"i didn't tell you to move." he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "just take the music."
"please, jay, let me move." you sobbed softly, the denial of friction becoming a literal torture. your core was throbbing, practically weeping against the hard instrument, desperate for any release. "please, i want to slide, let me-"
"tell me what you want." he commanded, his fingers plucking a resonant note that made your entire body shudder against the wood. "say it, y/n. tell me what you're riding."
"your guitar." you cried out, your pride completely shattered, your face burning with a mixture of intense shame and overwhelming arousal. "i'm riding your guitar. please, jay..."
a dangerous chuckle vibrated against your chest. "good girl." he murmured, his grip on your hips finally loosening just a fraction, allowing you to slide. "now show me how desperate you are. ride it for me."
with his hands guiding your hips, you slowly began to shift, dragging your aching center over the vibrating wood of his guitar. every time you moved, he plucked another deep chord, the physical vibrations combining with the friction of your jeans to push you closer and closer to the absolute edge of sanity. you clutched his shoulders, your eyes rolled back, completely ruined, riding his instrument in the dark while he watched your undoing with a victorious smile.
you shifted against the smooth finish, your head thrown back as the continuous vibration of another low chord hummed straight through your pelvic bone. every friction-filled glide of your jeans against the wood was sweet torture, but you couldn't get close enough. you were chasing a release that remained agonizingly out of reach, completely trapped in the rhythm of his hands.
jay watched the desperate tilt of your hips, his eyes dark and dilated in the shadows. he let out a rough hum, the sound vibrating against your chest where your bodies brushed.
"look at you." he rasped, his voice dripping with that toxic satisfaction. "ruined for me. and i haven't even touched you yet."
he kept his left hand on the fretboard, casually holding down a rumbling note that kept the wood buzzing against your wet heat. but his right hand left the strings.
you opened your eyes, blinking past the tears of frustration, and saw him holding that thin, black guitar pick again.
your breath hitched, your hips freezing for a split second. "jay..."
"i didn't tell you to stop, y/n." he murmured, his tone a mocking warning. "keep moving."
you swallowed hard, forced to slowly drag your aching core over the vibrating wood again, your eyes locked onto his fingers.
jay slowly brought his hand down between your bodies, his fingers reaching the button of your jeans. with agonizing slowness, he popped it open. the sound of your zipper being dragged down felt incredibly loud in the quiet room.
he didn't slide his hand inside to cup you. he didn't give you the warm touch of his palm that you were begging for.
instead, his knuckles brushed your stomach as he slipped his hand just inside the parted denim, the cool edge of the plastic pick sliding past the damp lace of your underwear.
the second the thin plastic pressed directly against your swollen clit, you let out a broken sob. your back arched, your fingers digging violently into his shoulders as a blinding jolt of pleasure shot straight to your core.
"so wet." jay whispered, his voice a dark purr right against your ear.
he didn't move his hand away. as you instinctively tried to push your hips forward into the pressure, his fingers held the pick perfectly still, letting the flat edge of the plastic press firmly against your sensitive bud. at the same time, his other hand plucked another deep chord on the guitar.
the double assault was completely overwhelming. the wood vibrated violently against your pelvic bone while the thin plastic pick teased the most sensitive point of your core.
"slide for me, baby." he commanded softly, his grip on your hips tightening just enough to guide you. "rub yourself right against the pick, y/n. let me feel how much you actually want it."
you cried out, the humiliating filth of his words sending a fresh wave of heat down your thighs. but you couldn't stop. you were entirely unraveled, completely at his mercy. you slowly shifted your hips, dragging yourself over the vibrating guitar body while the hard edge of his pick scraped and teased over your dripping heat with every agonizing movement.
"please, jay." you wept, your forehead pressing into his neck as you frantically chased the edge, your inner thighs shaking so hard you could barely hold yourself up over the instrument. "please... it's too much."
"it's exactly what you wanted, sweetheart." he rasped, his eyes watching your face with possessive intensity. he dragged the flat edge of the pick slowly up and down, parting your sensitive folds, coating the plastic in your own slick moisture while the guitar kept humming beneath you. "show me how much you can take before you break."
he brought the slick guitar pick back down, but he didn't slide it. instead, he pressed the very tip of the plastic right against the swollen center of your pleasure. he began to vibrate his hand with the same rapid motion he used to shred on stage, turning the plastic pick into a dizzying blur against your clit.
the sensation was so sharp, so intense, that your vision literally went black at the edges. you screamed, your hips bucking frantically against his grip, trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure. but his hands on your hips were like iron bands, locking you down, forcing you to take every single agonizing vibration.
"jay! please, please- i'm going to-" you cried out, your fingers clawing desperately at the leather of his jacket, tears finally spilling over your hot cheeks.
"mmh? " he teased as he kept his hand vibrating against you, pushing you closer and closer to a messy peak.
in a fleeting second, he stopped his hand, holding the pick perfectly still, pressing it hard against your throbbing bud. you gasped, hovering on the very brink of your orgasm, your body trembling, completely suspended in mid-air.
"fuck, jay!" you wept, your voice breaking, completely ruined, any ounce of your dignity long gone, scattered on the floor of his dark loft. "please let me. please, jay."
jay stared up at you, his dark eyes flashing with a heavy hunger that finally burned away the mocking amusement. his chest was heaving now, his own breathing ragged as he took in the sight of you — completely stripped of your defenses, crying and begging for him, entirely his.
but he didn’t budge. he kept his hand absolutely still, holding you hostage on the very peak of the cliff, your body trembling so violently the guitar strings beneath you hummed a chaotic note.
he leaned forward, his face close enough that his warm, tobacco-scented breath brushed your wet cheek. the dark smirk on his lips was entirely devoid of pity.
"crying over a guitar pick. you’re so easy it’s almost boring, y/n." he whispered, a low chuckle scraping against your ear.
a sob caught in your throat, your fingers clenching the leather of his jacket. the sheer humiliation of his words burned, but the ache between your thighs was a screaming demand, drowning out every shred of your dignity. "jay... i can't... i need-"
"what do you need?" he interrupted smoothly, his silver-ringed fingers gently tapping the side of your neck, right over your throbbing pulse. "tell me exactly how pathetic you are right now. let me hear it."
you shook your head, trying to hide your face in his shoulder, but he caught your chin in a firm grip, forcing you to look into his ruthless eyes.
"say it." he commanded, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet purr. "tell me you're just a desperate slut begging for whatever crumbs i feel like giving you."
"i'm... i'm desperate. i’ve been waiting for so long, jay." you wept, the words tasting like ash on your tongue. "please, please let me come..."
his dark eyes flared with a predatory satisfaction. "my patient girl. that’s it." he rasped, the praise dripping with toxic sweetness.
he didn't remove the pick. instead, he gripped your hips with bruising force, pinning you down, and struck one final chord on the guitar. at the very same instant, his hand holding the pick flicked sharply, dragging the flat edge hard against your overstimulated clit.
the dual explosion of the violent vibration and his sharp touch shattered you. a loud, broken moan tore from your throat as your body bucked wildly against his hands. a violent orgasm crashed over you, your inner thighs spasming uncontrollably as you flooded the hard wood of his instrument. you clutched him like a drowning person, your face buried in his neck, sobbing through the exhausting intensity of the release.
jay didn't move. he just held you tightly against him, letting you shiver and break, listening to your ragged gasps with a quiet hum.
when the worst of the tremors finally began to fade, leaving you hollow and completely spent, he slowly let go of your hips. he reached down, casually tossing the wet guitar pick onto the table, before sliding his hands under your thighs and lifting you off the instrument.
he set the guitar aside, letting it clatter carelessly against the floor, and pulled your limp body directly onto his lap. you slumped against his chest, too weak to even lift your head.
jay slowly ran his fingers through your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle, though his voice remained laced with that same mocking warmth.
"look at the mess you made of my guitar, sweetheart." he murmured, his breath hot against your ear as he pressed a possessive kiss to your temple. "i guess you're going to have to clean that up, too. but first..."
his hand slid down your back, his fingers digging into the bare skin of your hip, pulling you flush against the hard bulge of his jeans. "you're going to have to thank me."
you shivered against him, your forehead still pressed into his neck as your chest rose and fell in shallow gasps. below you, the thick ridge of his jeans pressed right against your freshly ruined core.
the contrast was absolute torture. every tiny twitch of his thighs sent a jolt of electricity straight to your overstimulated nerves, making your hips shudder helplessly on his lap.
"i'm waiting, y/n." jay murmured. his large hand slid up your thigh, his calloused thumb digging deliberately into the sensitive flesh of your inner leg, forcing them wider. "where is my thank you?"
you swallowed hard, your throat tight with a humiliating mixture of tears and burning lust. you wanted to fight him. you wanted to claw at his chest and scream at him for being so unbelievably cruel. but you were too far gone. he had stripped away every single defense you had, leaving you completely raw.
"thank you..." you whispered, your voice cracking pathetically. "thank you, jay."
a condescending chuckle vibrated against your chest. jay tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a look of pure triumph. "is that it?" he rasped, his hand sliding further up, his fingers brushing the wet warmth between your thighs, making you gasp and arch into his hand. "sounds a little half-hearted. especially after you made such a disgusting mess of my gear."
"jay, please." you begged, your hands clenching the leather of his jacket as you desperately ground your hips down against his hand, trying to force his fingers inside you. "i can't... please, i need you. inside me. now."
"you're so greedy." he purred, his fingers teasing the very edge of your wetness but refusing to slide in, intentionally keeping you hovering on the edge of madness. "you spent months pretending you weren’t even looking at me, and now you’re begging like a dog on my lap. do you want to feel how big i am compared to that little plastic toy? is that it?"
"fuck, jay. please." you begged, completely abandoned to the filth of his words.
that did it. the last thread of jay's mocking restraint finally snapped. his dark eyes flared with a vicious hunger, his breathing turning incredibly ragged. in one rough motion, he grabbed your waist and flipped you over, slamming your back flat against the leather couch. the impact knocked the wind out of your lungs, but before you could even inhale, jay was hovering over you, his heavy body pinning you down.
he didn't waste any time. he reached down and aggressively ripped his belt open, the metallic clinking of his buckle sounding incredibly loud in the quiet room. he shoved his jeans down, exposing his pulsing cock, already slick and fully prepared to ruin you.
"you said you've been waiting for this for months, right?" jay rasped, his voice entirely stripped of its quiet playfulness. he grabbed both of your knees, brutally pushing them up toward your chest, exposing you completely beneath him. "let's see if you can actually handle it, or if you're just all talk."
"jay-"
you didn't even get to finish his name. jay leaned down, his large hand wrapping firmly around your throat to keep you still, and plunged himself straight into you in one deep, merciless thrust.
a choked cry tore from your throat as your eyes rolled back. he was massive, stretching you to your absolute limit, filling the aching void that had been torturing you for weeks. the friction was so intense that your hips immediately tried to rise to meet him.
but jay kept you pinned, his hand on your throat tightening just enough to command your absolute obedience. "don't move." he growled, a possessive sneer on his lips as he began to pull back and thrust into you again, harder this time. the slapping sound of his skin against yours filled the quiet loft, dirty and loud. "just lie there and take it."
he began to pace himself with a brutal rhythm, bottoming out against you with a force that made the entire couch shake. every time he slammed into you, his silver rings bit into the skin of your hips, leaving bruises that would remind you of this night for weeks.
"look at me." he commanded roughly, slamming into you so hard your head bounced against the leather cushion. "look at me while i finally fuck you, y/n."
you opened your tear-filled eyes, staring up at his beautiful face. he looked absolutely lethal in the dim light — his jaw clenched, sweat dripping down his neck, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a consuming intensity. he was mocking you, degrading you, treating you like nothing more than a place to release his own dirty urges, and yet you had never felt so utterly alive.
"you're so tight." jay growled, his pace turning fast and frantic, his control finally fracturing under the sheer heat of your wet walls crushing around him. he leaned down, his mouth catching yours in a bruising kiss as his tongue invaded your mouth, just as roughly as his lower half was splitting you open.
you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him in as deep as he could possibly go, a shattered moan muffling against his lips. he bit down hard on your bottom lip before pulling back just enough to look down at you, his hips never slowing down for a single second.
"you really thought you were subtle, didn't you?" he rasped, his voice dripping with that arrogant tone as he slammed back into you, making your entire body jolt against the leather. "every single thursday night. standing in that corner behind the bar, pretending to clean the same spot on the counter for twenty minutes straight."
your eyes widened slightly through your tears, a soft sob breaking out of your chest as his words laid you completely bare.
"i saw you every fucking time, y/n." he growled, a wicked smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as he thrusted deeper, hitting that exact sensitive spot inside you until your toes curled. "watching my hands on the fretboard. biting your lip like a pathetic little stalker. wondering if i'd ever notice you."
"jay..." you choked out, your hands digging into his shoulders, trying to endure the agonizing perfection of his relentless rhythm.
"i knew exactly what you were doing." he purred, leaning down to drag his teeth over your sensitive pulse point while his lower half brutally worked you open. "i let you sit there and starve on purpose. and look at you now, so fucking desperate you're taking every inch of me on my couch."
he tightened his hand around your throat, not enough to cut off your air, but just enough to force your head back as his thrusts turned fast, brutal, and completely merciless. the sound of your wet center clinging to him mixed with the loud creak of the couch frame echoed loudly through his apartment.
"tell me i was worth the wait." he commanded roughly, his dark eyes burning into yours as he pounded into you with relentless force. "tell me how much better this is than your little fantasies."
"it's... fuck, jay, it's so much better." you sobbed, completely unraveled, your hips desperately lifting to meet every devastating strike of his body. "please... don't stop..."
"i'm not stopping until i completely ruin you." he growled against your skin.
he hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you up even wider, and drove himself in so hard your vision blurred. the sudden angle sent a blinding spike of pure ecstasy straight to your core. your inner walls squeezed him, contracting in am uncontrollable spasm.
jay let out a guttural curse, his jaw clenching as your tightness threatened to snap his restraint. "yeah, just like that. squeeze me, sweetheart. show me how much you needed this."
the words were still vibrating against your skin when your vision completely shattered into white-hot sparks. you let out a broken scream, your fingers clawing violently at his shoulders, tearing at his shirt as the orgasm ripped through you. your inner walls clamped down on his thick length like a vice, pulsing in frantic waves that made him growl out loud, his neck straining as he fought his own release.
but jay didn't let you enjoy the finish. he didn't slow down, and he didn't give you a single second to breathe. instead, he kept driving himself into you, his hips slamming against yours with brutal force, mercilessly pounding straight into your freshly oversensitive core.
"f-fuck, jay! stop- please. too much!" you sobbed, your head thrashing against the leather cushion as the pleasure turned so sharp it was almost painful. every thrust felt like electricity shooting straight to your brain.
"stop?" he mocked, a cruel laugh escaping his lips. he leaned down, his sweat dripping onto your chest, his eyes wide and completely feral in the dark. "when you spent months begging for this?"
he hit that deep spot again, hard, as you let out a high whine, your thighs shaking so violently they were practically vibrating.
"look at you." he rasped, his voice dripping with absolute satisfaction. "so fucking pathetic. crying and shaking over my cock like it's the only thing keeping you alive. is it, y/n? is this the only thing you've been thinking about while you were serving my band?"
"jay…" you wept, completely stripped of any remaining self-respect, your hands clutching helplessly at his hair. "yes, jay, please..."
"such a dirty little thing." he purred, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, leaving deep marks as he kept up the punishing pace. "you're making a fucking mess of my leather, fuck."
you couldn't even answer him. all you could do was let out useless whimpers as he mercilessly worked you over, his body crushing you into the cushions. the relentless friction of your overstimulated clit against his pelvis was too much. another wave of heat started building immediately, tighter and even more desperate than the first.
"that's it." jay growled, his own breathing turning incredibly shallow, his chest heaving as he felt your inner walls starting to spasm tightly around him again. "come again for me. let me feel how easy you are."
he grabbed your other leg, shoving both of your knees practically to your chest, folding you completely in half as he delivered three final, devastatingly deep thrusts.
your voice broke completely, a shattered sob tearing from your throat as you crashed over the edge for a second time, your core clenching around him in a tight grip. the sheer intensity of your climax finally broke jay's remaining control. he let out a guttural roar, his body locking up as he gave one last, bruising thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside you as he flooded you with his hot release.
"fucking hell, y/n…" jay moaned as he finished inside you, completely breathless, locking his dark eyes onto yours with a terrifyingly intimate intensity.
the quiet that followed didn't feel like relief. it dropped over the dark flat, drowning out the electric hum of the amp on the floor.
for a long moment, he didn't pull away. his weight stayed heavy against you, his forehead pressed into the crook of your neck, his chest heaving in ragged pulses that mirrored your own. the arrogant edge in his posture had fractured — just for a fraction of a second — leaving only the harsh heat of his skin and the fast rhythm of his pulse hammering against you.
you lay there trapped beneath him, your heart thrashing against your ribs, desperately searching his face for any slip in his composure, any proof that he had lost himself to you as completely as you had lost yourself to him.
then, slowly, the dark closed back in.
jay lifted his head. the light filtered through the window, catching the sharp contour of his jaw and the damp fringe of hair clinging to his forehead. the feral hunger that had consumed him vanished as quickly as it had arrived, slipping smoothly back behind that unbothered calm.
he slid his hand slowly up your throat, his thumb dragging across the flushed heat of your cheeks. he didn't say a word right away. he just stared down at you, taking in the absolute ruin of your posture, the lingering tremble in your legs, the tears drying on your temples.
he had given you everything you had spent months starving for. he had pulled you into the dark and undone you piece by piece.
as he finally leaned down, his lips brushed the shell of your ear, his voice dropping into a teasing whisper that made your stomach twist.
"let's see if you can still look away next thursday, sweetheart."
