#jay x reader

She remembered how she would never feel any sense of belonging anywhere. Not at home, not in school, not in uni. Moulding herself in a way that fits people's expectation of a nice young woman, a fun friend. She frowned, glancing at Heeseung, who had only spared her a busy "Hi, kid!". She knew it was stupid for her to expect the boys to be more friendly with her, afterall, they only know her for a week or two. And they have other friends—

"Why are you being so sulky?" She heard a familiar voice beside her.

"I'm not being sulky." She scoffed. Jay clicked his tongue slightly, "have you seen your face? You look like the movie characters where she gets cheated on by her boyfriend with her bestfriend and her bestfriend invites to a party to embarass her."

"what kind of movies do you even watch. What the fuck." She cringed.

"I just have a resting sad face." She quipped, quickly glancing up at the idol. She found herself staring at his wrist watch for a second, "sick watch."

"Uh…Thanks." Jay said, caught off guard.

She did notice the rest of him, black full sleeve t-shirt that had it arms rolled up to his elbows, a neat pair of jeans, hair brushed out of his forehead. His usual cap and hoodies missing.

"So…. what's the issue with you?" Jay asked again.

"Firstly, there's no issue. Secondly, why do you care? You literally called me a horse the other day." She mumbled, picking up a cup from the tray infront of her to distract herself from her evident "issue" of feeling unwanted everywhere. The drink smelt like berries, figuring it is just a mocktail, she chugged some of it down.

Jay watched her intently, glancing at the Soju cocktail Sunghoon made for people who don't like direct liquor, in her hand with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, you looked like you were about to throw up…"

"I am not used to so many idols in one place without me running behind them with costumes. Chastise me for being awkward I guess." She sighed.

"They are just some people. And…you know standing at one place waiting for someone to come and save you isn't cool. Sunoo was looking for you." He said, picking up a drink before sipping on it.

Y/n stared at him for a while, genuinely considering his words before she started looking for Sunoo.

By the time she found Sunoo she could feel her limbs grow a bit heavy and her feet stumble. Whatever was in that nice tasting drink she just finished, she had a feeling was not non-alcoholic. She reached Sunoo and slurred something out. Sunoo, already drunk, slurred out something even more stupid to which she giggled. Sunghoon who was leaning on the couch behind them gave her a weird look.

"Are you drunk, Y/n?" He asked, although it was obvious by the way she was obnoxiously laughing at absolutely nothing, face flushed.

He couldn't believe it, he had never seen her let go of her professionalism in person. Sunoo grabbed her hand excitedly, talking about their favourite Pokemon characters, Y/n encouraging him throughout.

"Stop, they look so cute. It's like two marshmallows talking." Yunjin chuckled, as she walked over with Heeseung.

"This is the first time I'm seeing her smile so much." Heeseung said, smiling. "I honestly feel sad sometimes, watching her work so hard. It's just like us, loosing the years we could've had fun without everything getting so serious."

"You're acting like an unc again. Ugh." Yunjin smacked his shoulder before walking away.

Somewhere in between Y/N started singing Mamma Mia by Abba as it started playing on the music system, hitting the notes perfectly well even while being drunk. Sunghoon winced at how close she was to his ear but still smiled when he saw her wide smile, glancing at Jungwon who was happily recording their manager. Jay who sat on her other side had his eyes fixated on her, lips lifting up slightly at how full of life she looked. Suddenly she stood up,

"Mamma Mia! Here I go again, how can I resist you!" She sang pointing at Jake who almost spit his drink out, sighing as he realised it was just a part of her 'routine'.

"I've been angry and sad about things that you do, I can't count all the times that I've told you we're through" she danced around. Everyone was positively having a lot of fun, the energy infectious. Soon enough Chaewon and Yunjin joined her then some others. When the crowd grew, Jay stood up and softly pulled her out of it, sitting her down before shaking his head with a chuckle as he walked away.

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(tag list💫(OPEN): @jjongsie @megamatt43 @meikstv @elizaliza159 @charlizefaye @en-injang @jakhoon )

But not today. He had been practicing this specific song for a week, obsessing over every chord because he wanted his very first performance in front of you to be flawless. He meticulously tuned the strings, searching for the right rhythm, terrified of ruining the surprise for you. He even drank glass after glass of water, ensuring his voice would be hydrated, smooth, and clear for you when he finally sings.

Soon, Jay stood in front of the mirror. He wore the crisp white long-sleeve shirt you always picked out for him whenever you guys went on your special dates. In his hands, he held a massive bouquet of red roses—the exact kind he bought you for every single monthsary. Finally, he picked up a bottle of your favorite perfume and sprayed it onto his skin. He breathed in the scent you loved so much. Jay always took note of the tiny things you adored about him, willing to repeat these rituals over and over again just to see you happy.

Checking his reflection one last time to ensure he looked handsome and presentable, he pulled out his phone. Smiling at the screen, he typed a quick message:

“On my way, beautiful.”

Jay gathered the roses, cased his guitar, and left the house happily excited to meet you again.

…

Jay entered the room nervously. The cool temperature from the air conditioner hugged him tightly, and a sudden shiver ran down his spine. A bullet of sweat formed on his forehead. His palms grew slick, and his hands trembled violently against the grip of his guitar case as he walked in.

He greeted you happily, forcing that bright, beautiful smile onto his face—the smile you had been waiting so long to see. The smile he missed giving you with every broken piece of his soul.

Jay leaned in to leave a small, light kiss, gently setting down the bouquet of fresh roses he bought from your favorite flower shop. Dragging one of the chairs forward, he sat down while he picked his guitar from his guitar bag. As he settled down into the quiet space, he spoke aloud.

“Hi, baby. I miss you so much. Long time no see,” Jay whispered, tears immediately welling up in the corners of his eyes.

As he stared in front of your elegant tombstone, full of beautiful flowers and letters he sent to you.How were you able to keep yourself looking so pretty after all this time?

“Happy 3rd Anniversary, babe. I’m sorry if I took so long to perform in front of you. I was supposed to sing this to you on your birthday... but you left me earlier.” His voice trembled at the thought of losing you that day.

Six months ago, you were on your way to your birthday celebration venue. Your family and friends had planned a massive surprise party for you, and you had been happy over the moon, bursting with joy. But destiny was cruel. As you were crossing the pedestrian lane, a fast-moving white van coming in your direction lost its brakes, crashing into you and violently crushing you to death in a split second.

Jay had been utterly devastated when he heard the news of your sudden death. He had collapsed to his knees, his agonizing heart and eyes full of tears in a synchronized rhythm of pure pain while your body lay cold and unmoving.

“I miss your voice, your smile, your touch, everything about you. I miss you so much,” he said softly, a heavy hint of sadness suffocating his words. Leaning forward, he touched your tombstone gently with his free hand.

Steeling himself, he began to strum his guitar, letting the melody pull up the memories of you. He always sang beautifully.

Beautiful girl, wherever you are

I knew when I saw you

You had opened the door

I knew that I'd loved again

After a long, long while

I'd loved again ~

A bittersweet smile touched his lips, remembering the afternoon you met at Sunghoon’s Cafe. He had been completely mesmerized by your beauty the moment you opened that door. His gaze had never left you until he finally walked over and shamelessly introduced himself to you.

It was destiny's game

For when love finally came on

I rushed in line only to find

That you were gone ~

Jay swallowed hard against the suffocating lump in his throat as the beautiful memory dissolved. It was brutally replaced by the bitter, sterile image of you lying on a hospital bed with no pulse, not responding anymore. The exact moment his world shattered, breaking his heart into unfixable pieces.

Wherever you are

I fear that I might

Have lost you forever

Like a song in the night

Now that I've loved again

After a long, long while

I've loved again ~

Jay stared at your tombstone, wondering where you were right now. Were you doing well? He hoped that you were listening to his song for you, drowning in a sickening wave of regret for not singing it when you were still alive. His stomach dropped as he remembered the night before your birthday, how you had hugged him tight and begged him to sing for you. He had declined, wanting to save it for your special day. 

Now, he was finally singing it on your special day—but the cruel difference was that you were gone. 

Beautiful girl, I'll search on for you

'Til all of your loveliness

In my arms come true

You've made me in love again

After a long, long while

In love again

And I'm glad that it's you~

After he finished the last verse of the song, Jay completely broke down into tears again. The guitar slipped from his lifeless hands, hitting the floor with a loud, hollow thud that echoed through the silent room. 

Only his loud, agonizing sobs could be heard. He wrapped his arms around the cold stone monument, burying his face against it, begging and screaming for you to come back into his arms like you always used to do.

But a part of him knew that you would never come back physically. You were just a beautiful, painful memory that he was condemned to carry forever in his broken heart.

taglist: @hoonguin @jakeycakeys @simjaeyunlvrclub @ni-kiluvzxo @livonianmaia @kristynaaah

'mintchoco4life started to follow you on X'

------introducing the cast ------

FC: Jo Soomin (not compulsory)

JO Y/N

-Uni student. Currently interning at HYBE.

- was street casted to be a trainee but joined management instead.

- Previously interning and managing with ILLIT, was made into Enhypen's temporary manager.

Sumin Ella Diaz

-Full time employee at HYBE, passed out of uni a year before Y/N.

- Y/N's bestfriend and Roommate.

- Previously in the management team of LESSERAFIM, currently managing ILLIT.

A/N: I FIGURED THIS APP OUT LMAO.

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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 — and 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, chaotic 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 blue 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 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 low, 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 bruise 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 brutal, 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 heavy 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 and quiet, 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 like a trapped bird, before your fingers finally caught a small cardboard matchbook.

when you turned back, he was watching you. not with impatience, but with a slow 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 blue 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 silver-ringed 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 quiet 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."

a faint, 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, violently 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 blue 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 slow 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, heavy 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 heavy 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 heavy and 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 canvas 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 heavy 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, projecting a quiet gravity, 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 heavy 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 amber 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 heavy 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 the heavy 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 the heavy silver rings glinting in the dim amber 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 the damp canvas of your 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 heavy 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 heavy 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 entirely 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 bone 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 distortion, 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, casting his sharp features in deep shadows.

"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 vibrating, 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, entirely 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 heavy 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 heavy 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 amber light allowing you to see him. he had his electric guitar resting against his hip — unplugged, raw, 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 heavy 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 amber 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, heavy, 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 heavy 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 heavy 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 violently 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 and fire 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 heavy. in one swift, incredibly 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 dark 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, so violently good, 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, his thrusts heavy and deep, 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, his tongue invading 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 breathing heavy and ragged, 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 the shadowy 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 thrust 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 heavy creak of the couch frame echoed loudly through the dark loft.

"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 violently, 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 heavy hips slamming against yours with a 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 heavy 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 dark eyes wide and completely feral in the shadows. "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 heavy 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 loft like lead, 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 violent rhythm of his pulse hammering against your jaw.

in the dark, you couldn't tell where the friction ended and the silence began. 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 amber streetlamp light filtered through the rain-streaked windowpane, 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 cheek with gentle weight. 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 quiet tears drying on your temples.

he had given you everything you had spent agonizing 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."