"Work ran over."

"You're not eating enough."

"I had lunch."

"You had a protein bar at 2 PM. That's not lunch."

You sigh, too tired to argue. "Jake, I'm really not in the mood for-"

He stands up. You stop talking.

He crosses the room in three strides. Doesn't stop until he's chest to chest with you, close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him. Close enough to smell him cedar and sweat and something darker underneath, something that makes your stomach flip.

"You're not in the mood for what?" he asks quietly.

His hand comes up. His knuckles brush your jaw.

"To fight," you manage.

"I don't want to fight." His thumb traces your lower lip. "I want to take care of you. But you won't let me unless I make you."

"Make me?"

He tilts his head. That small, predatory motion you've learned to recognize. "Yeah."

And then he drops to his knees.

Your breath catches. He's done this before gone down on you a hundred times, a thousand. But never like this. Never with that look in his eyes, like he's already gone, like he's been thinking about this all day and he's about to come apart before he even touches you.

"Jake what are you-"

"Shut up."

His hands slide up your calves. Your knees. Your thighs. He pushes your skirt up around your hips and hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties.

"I've been thinking about this since you left this morning," he says, pulling them down. "Couldn't focus. Couldn't eat. Just kept smelling you on the pillow and losing my mind."

"You're being dramatic."

"I came twice in the shower thinking about doing this."

Your mouth falls open. "You what?"

He doesn't answer. He's too busy looking at you specifically at the wet spot already soaking through your panties, at the way your thighs are shaking even though he hasn't done anything yet.

"Jesus," he breathes. "You're already soaked."

"You're the one who came twice in the-"

He buries his face between your legs.

Not slowly. Not teasing. He just dives in like he's starving, his tongue flat against you, his nose pressing into your clit, his hands gripping your thighs so hard you know there will be bruises tomorrow.

You gasp. Your hands fly to his hair. He moans, the vibration shooting straight through you and his hips jerk against nothing.

He's humping the air like a dog in heat. You can see it from here, the way his sweatpants are tented, the way he's grinding down against nothing because he can't help himself. He hasn't even touched his own cock and he's already thrusting into empty air like he's fucking something.

"Jake, hmm your mm-"

"Don't care." His mouth is muffled against you. "Don't fucking care. Just need to taste you. Need you to cum on my face. Need it so bad I can't think."

He licks into you like he's trying to drink you. His tongue curls, presses, flicks. He finds your clit and sucks gentle at first, then harder, then so hard you see start to see stars.

Your knees buckle. He catches you, holds you up but doesn't stop.

"Please," he whimpers against you.

Jake doesn't whimper. Jake growls. Jake commands. But right now, on his knees with your thighs around his ears, he's whimpering like a puppy.

"Please what?" you gasp.

"Please cum. Please. I need to feel it. I need you to-" His hips buck again, harder this time. A wet spot is spreading through his sweatpants. "I'm so close and you haven't even touched me and I can't- I can't hold it-"

"You're going to cum untouched?"

"I'm so fucked, this is all your fault. I keep thinking about this. Please. Please please please-"

He's begging without even knowing what exactly he's begging for. His nose is running. His eyes are wet. He looks wrecked and he's barely started.

You tug at his hair. He moans, high and desperate, and his whole body shudders.

"Then cum," you say. "Cum for me, show me how good I make you feel."

"Baby call me a- mm fuck please say it need it-."

"Say what?" You tease

"Fuck don't be like that- please tell me I'm a good- I'm a good-."

"You're my good pup." You finish for him.

He whines. He moans. He sobs. And then he cums.

You watch it happen. His eyes roll back. His mouth goes slack against you. His hips stutter into the air once, twice, three times and then his whole body locks up, every muscle going tight at once, and you feel his cock twitching inside his sweatpants, pulsing, spilling.

He's cumming untouched. For the third time today. Just from the thought of you and eating you out.

His moan is broken. Pathetic. Yet so perfect.

He doesn't stop.

Even as he's shaking through the aftershocks, his tongue keeps moving. Keeps licking. Keeps sucking. He's drunk on you, high on your taste, and nothing not even his own orgasm is going to pull him away.

"Fuck," you breathe. "Jake. Jake, that's-"

He doubles down.

His hands leave your thighs and wrap around your ass, pulling you closer, grinding your cunt against his face like he's trying to crawl inside you. His nose keeps bumping against your clit with every thrust of his tongue. He's messy no pattern, no rhythm, just desperate, sloppy need.

You cum with a shout. Your whole body gives out. He drinks every drop, moaning like it's the best thing he's ever tasted, and his hips jerk again dry this time, nothing left, but he keeps thrusting anyway.

When you finally stop shaking, he pulls back just enough to look up at you.

His face is wrecked. Chin wet. Nose wet. Eyes blown so wide and chest heaving. There's a dark patch on his sweatpants, spreading from his crotch down his thigh.

"Again," he says.

"What?"

"Again." He's already lowering his mouth back to you. "I can still taste you. Need more. Need you to cum again. Please. I'll be good. I'll be so good. Just let me-"

"Jake, you just came in your pants."

"So?"

He says it like it's irrelevant. Like his own pleasure doesn't matter. Like the only thing that exists in this world is your cunt and his mouth.

He licks up the inside of your thigh. Bites gently. Sucks a mark into the soft flesh.

"Please," he whispers against your skin. "One more time. Just one more. I'll beg. I'll do anything. I'll-"

You pull him up by his ears.

He whines loud and embarrassingly but he follows. You drag him to the bed and push him down onto his back. His sweatpants are soaked through. His cock is still half hard, twitching against his stomach, leaking the last few drops of his third orgasm.

"Take these off," you say.

He scrambles to obey. Nearly falls off the bed in a rush. Gets stuck with one leg in and one leg out and whimpers in frustration until you help him.

Then he's naked beneath you. His cock is flushed dark red, still wet, still twitching. His thighs are slick with his own cum. His eyes are blown out. His ears are pinned back.

And his eyes are begging.

"Please," he says. "Please, baby. Need you. Need to be inside you. I'll die. I'll actually die if you don't-"

"Roll over."

He blinks. "What?"

"On your stomach. Now."

He moves so fast he nearly falls off the bed again. Ends up on his belly, face pressed into the pillow, ass in the air like he's presenting.

You've never seen him like this. Never seen him so desperate, so obedient, so ready to take whatever you give him.

You straddle the backs of his thighs. He shudders.

"You want to be inside me?" you ask.

"Yes. God, yes. Please."

"You want to feel how wet you made me?"

"Pleasepleaseplease"

You reach between his legs and wrap your hand around his cock.

He screams.

Not a moan. Not a groan. A full throated scream, muffled by the pillow, his whole body arching off the bed. He's so sensitive, so overstimulated, so completely gone that the barest touch makes him see god.

"Shh," you say, stroking him once. Twice. He's dripping, slick with his own cum, and the sound is obscene. "I thought you wanted to be inside me."

"I do. I do. But if you keep touching me I'm going to cum again and I want- I need-"

"You need what?"

He turns his head just enough to look at you. His face is tear streaked. His lips are swollen from eating you out. And nose still glistening from your slick.

He looks completely destroyed. And he's never been more beautiful.

"I need to be inside you when I cum," he says, voice breaking. "Please. I want to feel you around me. I want to fill you up. I want to watch it drip out of you and then I want to lick it up and then I want to do it again and again and again until I can't anymore."

You stare at him.

"Jake."

"What?"

"You're disgusting."

"Fuck I know." He doesn't sound sorry. "Please."

"Flip over"

He flips over in no time and you hover over him to line him up. He's shaking so hard you have to use both hands. His cock presses against your entrance just the tip, just barely and he makes a sound like a dying animal.

"Look at me," you say.

He forces his eyes open.

You sink down.

He cums instantly.

No thrust. No movement. Just the heat of you, the tightness of you, the wet slide of you taking him in and he shatters.

His whole body weakens. His cock jerks inside you, pumping hot and thick, filling you before you've even taken him all the way. His mouth is open in a silent scream. His hands fist the sheets. His ears flatten completely against his head.

He's crying. Actual tears, streaming down his face, soaking the pillow.

And he's still cumming.

It keeps going. Pulse after pulse after pulse. You've never seen anything like it. He just keeps spilling, keeps shaking, keeps whimpering your name like a prayer.

When he finally stops, he goes limp. Completely limp. His face is pressed into the pillow. His breath comes in wet, hitching gasps.

You haven't moved. You're still only halfway down his cock.

"Jake."

No response.

"Jake."

He mumbles something into the pillow. You can't understand it.

You lift off him slowly. His cock slips out, soft now, and a rush of his cum follows dripping down your thighs, pooling on his lower back.

He doesn't move.

His eyes are glassy. His face is a mess of tears and drool and your slick. His lips are moving, forming words you can't hear.

You lean down.

"...love you," he's whispering. Over and over. "Love you love you love you. M'sorry. M'sorry I couldn't last. M'sorry I'm like this. Love you. Love you so much. Please don't leave. Please don't-"

"Jake."

He blinks up at you.

"I'm not going anywhere."

More tears spill down his cheeks. His arms come up weak, shaking and wrap around your waist. He pulls you down on top of him, not caring that you're both sticky, both soaked, both completely wrecked.

"You wreck me," he says into your hair. "You know that? You fucking wreck me."

"Thats good Jakey."

He laughs. It turns into a sob halfway through.

You stay like that for a long time. Him holding you, you holding him, his sitting on both of your skin. His breathing slowly evens out. His heart stops hammering against his ribs.

Eventually, he speaks.

"I meant what I said."

"About what?"

"About doing it again. And again. And again."

You lift your head. Look at him.

He looks wrecked. Ruined. Completely, utterly destroyed. And he's already getting hard again.

"Again?" you say.

His hips twitch against you. His cock presses against your thigh soft at first, then firmer, then fully hard in the span of a few seconds.

"Ughhh I told you," he says, voice rough. "You wreck me."

He rolls you onto your back. Settles between your thighs. Presses his forehead to yours.

"I'm going to be inside you for the rest of the night," he says quietly. "And when the sun comes up, I'm going to make you breakfast. And then I'm going to bend you over the kitchen counter and do it again."

"Hmm that's ambitious."

He kisses you. Soft. Tender. Completely at odds with the way his hips are already pressing against you, already seeking entrance.

"For you?" He pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are still wet. His lips are still swollen. His ears are still pinned back, soft and submissive and so fucking endearing you want to bite them.

"For you," he says, "I'll do anything."

He pushes inside you.

And he doesn't stop until the sun comes up.

Sweat clung to your skin under the thin tank top and leggings you always wore for choreography sessions, but it wasn’t the exertion making your pulse race. It was the way riki, your secret boyfriend of six months had been staring at you the entire three hour rehearsal.

Not just staring burning. You’d felt it every time you positioned Jake’s hands on your waist for the partner section. Every time Jake’s chest brushed your back during the lift. Every time Riki’s sharp jaw tightened and his dark eyes narrowed from across the room while he danced with his own assigned partner.

He was professional on the surface sharp lines, flawless timing but you knew him better than anyone. That quiet, possessive storm was building behind every controlled breath.

Now the room was empty. Mirrors on every wall reflected the low emergency lights, turning the space into a glowing cage of glass and hardwood. The door locked with a soft snick as Riki turned the key he’d swiped from the staff table.

You didn’t even have time to turn around fully.

His tall frame was suddenly behind you, one hand slamming flat against the mirror in front of your face, the other snaking around your waist and yanking you back against his chest hard.

“You think that was cute?” His voice was low, rough, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Letting Jake touch you like that? Hands all over what’s mine?”

“Riki—” you started, but the sound died when his fingers dug into your hip, grinding you back against the very obvious bulge straining his sweatpants.

“Don’t,” he growled. “Don’t say his name right now not when I just watched him hold you the way only I’m allowed to.”

His free hand slid up, cupping your jaw and forcing your head up so you had no choice but to look at the two of you in the mirror. Your flushed cheeks, his sharp eyes dark with jealousy and hunger.

He was taller, broader from all the comeback training, and right now he looked every bit the possessive idol who’d been forced to share his choreographer girlfriend with another member for three straight hours.

“You’re the choreographer,” he muttered, teeth grazing your neck, “but you’re my girl, mine and I had to stand there pretending it didn’t kill me every time his fingers slipped under your shirt.”

He shoved your tank top up roughly, exposing your sports bra. One tug and that was gone too, your breasts spilling free. His large hand covered one immediately, pinching the nipple hard enough to make you gasp.

The mirror showed everything your back arching, his lips latching onto the side of your throat, sucking a mark you’d have to hide tomorrow.“Riki someone could come back—”

“No one’s coming back,” he cut you off, voice dripping with dark promise. “And even if they did, I don’t care anymore let them see who you really belong to.”

He spun you around fast, pressing your front against the cool mirror. Your palms slapped against the glass as he yanked your leggings and panties down in one rough motion, leaving them bunched around your knees. The cold air hit your soaked pussy and you whimpered.

“Look at yourself,” he ordered, kicking your feet apart. In the reflection you saw him shove his own sweats down just enough to free his cock thick, flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. “Look how wet you are for me after I watched you dance with him.”

Two long fingers dragged through your folds, spreading the slick mess before he pushed them inside you without warning. You moaned, forehead dropping against the mirror.

“Already dripping,” he snarled, scissoring his fingers cruelly. “Was it the dancing or knowing I was watching you with Jake that got you this soaked?”

“Riki—fuck—”

“Answer me.” He curled his fingers against that spot that made your knees buckle. “Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours,” you gasped. “Only yours.”

“That’s right.” He pulled his fingers out, replacing them instantly with the blunt head of his cock. One brutal thrust and he buried himself to the hilt, stretching you open in one go. The mirror fogged from your broken cry.

He didn’t give you time to adjust. He fucked you like he’d been holding back for hours deep, punishing strokes that made your breasts bounce against the glass and your breath stutter.

One hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back so you had to watch every second the way his hips snapped against your ass, the way his abs flexed with every thrust, the way his face was twisted in raw jealousy and lust.

“Mine,” he growled against your ear with every snap of his hips. “Not Jake’s not anyone’s mine to fuck mine to ruin.”

You could barely hold yourself up, legs shaking, but he wrapped an arm around your waist and held you against him, pounding harder. The wet sound of skin on skin echoed obscenely in the empty practice room.

“Tell me you’re sorry,” he demanded, biting down on your shoulder. “Tell me you’ll never let another member touch you like that again.”

“I’m sorry—ah—fuck, Riki—I’m yours—”

“Louder.” His hand slid down to rub tight circles over your clit, relentless. “Say it while you come on my cock.”

The orgasm hit you like a freight train, vision whiting out as you clenched around him, crying his name loud enough that anyone still in the building might hear. He didn’t stop, fucking you through it, chasing his own release with short, brutal thrusts.

“Fuck—gonna fill you up,” he groaned, voice breaking. “Gonna leave my cum dripping down your thighs so every time you look in this mirror tomorrow you remember who fucked you right here.”

With a final deep thrust he came hard, hips stuttering, hot pulses flooding you as he buried his face in your neck. For a long moment the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the faint creak of the mirror under your palms.

He stayed inside you, softening slowly, arms locked around your waist like he still couldn’t let go.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your skin, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to the fresh bite mark on your shoulder. “Next comeback choreography, you pair me with you or I swear I’ll drag you into this room every single night until you remember.”

You smiled shakily at his reflection, still trembling.“Jealousy looks good on you, Riki.”He smirked, dark eyes meeting yours in the glass as he slowly pulled out, cum already starting to slip down your thigh.

“martin!” you tug at his arm, pulling him away from the door. “stop snooping.” 

he lets you drag him without protest, stumbling a little. you raise your eyebrows, waiting for an answer. “well,” he says, rocking back on his heels and scratching the back of his neck. “obviously i'm here to visit my gorgeous girlfriend…” 

you roll your eyes. “you seem to be forgetting that i dumped your ass a week ago, tin.” you walk over to your vanity, sitting down to continue your night routine that was so rudely interrupted. martin follows like a lost dog. “well-yeah-but you always dump me before i get a chance to explain!” 

you glance at him through the mirror. “and besides, you still have our photos up so…” 

“so what?” you cut in, uncapping your moisturizer and dotting it on your cheeks. “you still flirted back with that girl at the mall in front of me.”

“i wasn't-” he pinches his nose in frustration. “i wasn't flirting with her. i didn't even realize she was flirting!” he sighs, sitting down on your bed. you dab toner onto a cotton pad. “she called you cute and touched your arm like she was yours, martin.” 

he drops his hands to his lap, groaning. “i didn't even hear her call me cute! and her hand was there for like, a second.” 

“you smiled at her like an idiot. you laughed at her stupid knock-knock joke like i wasn't even there.” you swiped the cotton pad across your cheek as you continued your rant, ignoring him. “you didn't even realize i had walked away until she finally left to wherever the hell she needed to go to.” 

he frowns, meeting your eyes through the mirror. “i thought you went to a different store.” you scoff, turning in your stool to face him. “of course you did.” you say flatly. “like that makes it any better.” you put the cap on your toner and set it aside a little too hard. 

you stand with your arms crossed, visibly more upset than angry. “i don't want a boyfriend who'll make me look crazy and stupid. i don't want to be the girl getting mad while her boyfriend laughs with a random girl.” 

“i'm sorry,” martin says quickly, gaze dropping to the floor. “i genuinely just thought she was being friendly.” he swallows. “but i get it now. i shouldn't have brushed you off when you said it bothered you. i messed up, big time.” 

you step closer to him. “yeah, you did.” martin shifts on the bed, dragging a hand down his face before looking back up at you. “her joke wasn't even that funny anyway.” 

you scoff for what feels like the hundredth time, though this time it's more amused than irritated. “you are unbelievable.” he grins. “you still took me back though?” you step closer to him until your between his knees, smacking his shoulder lightly. “sorry,” he winces. 

you run your hand through your hair, irritated again at the thought of your boyfriend laughing with some random chick at the mall. you point your finger at him. “if a girl flirts with you again-” 

“i run away.” 

“no.” 

“i scream?” 

“absolutely not.” 

“i grab you,” he says quickly, taking your arm. “i grab you, kiss you, and make it very obvious you're mine.” 

you bite back a smile. “sure.” 

“practice run?” he asks, grinning widely.

you roll your eyes but lean down anyways. you press a sharp, quick kiss to his lips. he smiles into it, hands settling on your waist as if it was muscle memory (it is). “my girlfriend.” he sighs dreamily. 

you rest your hands on his shoulders, giving him another kiss, slower this time. “yeah, and my idiot boyfriend.” 

Your boyfriend Riki loved fucking you in his car.

Sometimes you thought it was because he has a breeding kink, since the seats are cramped up.

But, realistically, it really wasn’t.

“Fuck your so good for me..” he said, like he wasn’t currently pounding into you from behind

“Hnnghhh!!..feels so good....” you yelp out

He chuckles behind you, before slowing his pace. “You ok baby?”

“mm..” You respond, currently, your on cloud nine

He groans, “Fuck, fuck fuck..” he says, speeding up

“So..fucking..tight” he says in between thrust, humid air and wet squelching noises fill the car from your slick.

You moan. Loud, your tits moving back in forth in your shirt

“You can take it right..? Yeah.. mhm..”

You whimper and moan. “hnngh! fuck!!”

“Right there, hm?” He says

“mm!”

“Mm..i can’t hear you baby..what’d you say?” He says in a teasing tone

“M..mm gonna cum..” You whine in pleasure.

“Yeah? you are?”

“mm-mmhm!..” you whimper out

*chuckle* “Ok then..cum baby..”

He starts to speed up, pounding into you, like a fucking animal. “Mhm..you feel that? he says as you can feel his big ass cock poking your stomach, making your eyes roll back.

“Y-Yeah that’s it..mhm.. let yourself go for me..”

You can’t take it anymore, and burst.

“Yeahhh..”

He slows down, you whimper, oversensitive.

“Turn around mkay?” *he lays back*

“But my legs hurt ki..”

*He looks up at you*

“fine..”

You turn around (cowgirl position now)

Your start to rock you hips slow. “Yeah fuck..like that..” After a few moments you start to speed up

“Mm.. fuck..”

He groans “You’re still so fucking tight.. even after getting stretched by this cock”

“Fuck i’m gonna cum so early.. fuck”

You start to bounce up and down, moaning slightly

You clench around his length.

“S-shit..fuck.. keep doing that..”

“Fuck..gonna cum gonna cum gonna cum..”

One, two , bounces, he cums.

“Aughh..Fuck.”

You both moan at the same time.

“Mmhm..you feel that? All my babies inside of your tight hole” he says

You 2 stay there for about one minute until his eyes widen.

“Fuck, baby get up get up..”

Your combined come spills out of you in globs

“shit.. i’m sorry..i should’ve told you to get up before i cummed..”

“no no! baby.. no.. i can take a plan b it’s ok..”

“..ok..”

…

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.

Recognition.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.