hii guys. haven’t been writing lately. well, haven’t been writing for here lately LMAO. i’ve been having a bit of a moral dilemma over this blog, and i think i might delete it :(
i definitely won’t be writing for it anymore, but if you like my writing and like f1, just dm me and ask for my f1 account. i likely won’t have any connection to my other blogs from this one, and i don’t really want any HAHAHA
hii guys. haven’t been writing lately. well, haven’t been writing for here lately LMAO. i’ve been having a bit of a moral dilemma over this blog, and i think i might delete it :(
i definitely won’t be writing for it anymore, but if you like my writing and like f1, just dm me and ask for my f1 account. i likely won’t have any connection to my other blogs from this one, and i don’t really want any HAHAHA
and while we're on the topic of people romanticizing a man who doesn't know you and owes you nothing; please don't be racist.
i have seen way too many people that think joost and the "holy trinity" are the hottest people to roam the earth (which is fine, i'm down bad for joost too), but then they assume that europeans are just the hottest and the best of races. at a point it starts to feel like less of a preference and more of some weird race thing. (same with people calling joost "the best rapper," like we can all have our own opinions but, really?)
i love writing fics, listening to his music, wishing i could just be granted five minutes in a club with him, but i don't think i would ever say european men (european specially, not dutch) are objectively hotter/better
not to make everything about race, but i saw some posts on tiktok which were along those lines of "oh wow joost klein is so hot, european men are better" that felt kind of borderline racist. i know a lot of these people saying this are kids, but still,,,thought it should be said.
If you took the time to respond to this, you can spare a moment to read and donate to my brother Nader Al-Anqar @abdalsalam2000. His situation in Gaza is very precarious, the IOF is threatening to occupy the entire city and displace him and his family, who already suffer from bombings and famine. Please please donate so that they can survive, so that if they are forced to evacuate they might have the funds to escape when the border opens. Please donate to his vetted by gazavetters fundraiser (#4), for the love of humanity.
We are living under bombardment, amidst hunger, deprivation, and skyr… Nader Family needs your support for Help us overcome all this loss an
warning: rpf ahead. only tagged with rpf tags, so if your seeing this, you looked for it
It was like you had a boyfriend. In fact, the world’s sweetest, funniest, kindest man loved you more than anyone in the world. You two would constantly go out together, you spent the night at his place generally a few times a week, like I said, it was like you had a boyfriend.
But he was just your friend who happened to be a boy. You’d met in your later teenage years, outside of a random bar, completely wasted. Your undeveloped self control led you to take shots with him, and the night ended with both of you sick in the back alley. There is clearly some sort of bond that forms when you empty the contents of your stomach with another person, because after that night, you two were rarely apart.
You had the exact same humor, interests, taste. He would commonly say that he’d met the female verison of himself, and you agreed. Though, those words had always left an unpleasant ache in your chest.
At some point it hit you that it left a bad taste in your mouth anytime he called you his twin or “like a sister”. You then very slowly and horrifingly realized you had spent the your entire friendship falling in love with him.
You knew it would never be reciprocated, so now at 23 years old, you had grown to live with it. There were moments that gave you hope of course, like the mornings you’d wake up on top of him on the couch after falling asleep playing COD. In his sleep his thumb always traced little patterns onto any available patch of your skin. Fuck, like that didn’t mess with your head.
Right now you were in a similar situation. You’d fallen asleep in his bed after a night of drinking. You were pressed up against up him and his arm was resting on your lower back, that damn thumb of his at work. He was sound asleep, chest rising and falling and eyelids fluttering as if he was having a good dream. You didn’t want to move, but you could see your phone plugged in on the bathroom counter, and you needed to check it.
You slowly snaked out from under his arm, careful not to wake him, before making your way into the bathroom. You checked your phone, 10:18, not a bad wake up time after a night out. You then looked up into the mirror, surveying the aftermath. To your surprise however, you didn’t look bad.
Your face was bare, any sign of makeup thoroughly scrubbed away. You were wearing a big shirt (one of Joosts- you recognize it) and sweatpants despite having no memory of changing. You realized with a jolt Joost must have taken care of you while you were in an incredibly inebriated state, and that just made your heart sore. Does he have to be so fucking kind all the time?
You move to undress and shower, pulling off Joost’s clothing. Your still in the same bra and underwear last night because Joost is just so damn respectful like that, and you feel like you should take your shower cold due to your mind suddenly wandering.
When your finished, you pull Joost’s clothes back on and make your way out of the bathroom. You’re greeted with the sigh of a half awake Joost in only his boxers, midway through changing. He immediately turns bright red and yanks his sweatpants on all the way. “Fuck! Sorry!” He says, sleep lingering in his slurred speech.
“Don’t worry,” You say, not stopping to think before saying, “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”
To your credit, that’s true. You’d seen each other half naked and fully nude more times than you could count, it just happens when your obnoxiously close with someone. It had never felt weird before now though. You need to get out of your own head.
Luckily Joost laughs like the statement meant nothing, because it didn’t, and ties the waistband of his pants. “How are you feeling? You were fucked up last night.”
You laugh. “Suprisingly okay. I think straight liquor is the secret to no hangover– when I cut out the fruity little drinks my head stopped killing me.”
Joost nods sagely, leaning back on his dresser. “Told ya.”
You grin, pausing before continuing. “Oh and thanks for taking care of me. I know I can be a handful.”
Joost shrugs like it’s no big deal.”What are friends for?”
Yeah, what are friends for.
“Tantu wants me to stop by and work on some music. Appie will be there too I think, wanna come?” Joost askes.
He’s still only in sweatpants, and it’s a little distracting but you gather your thoughts nonetheless. “Yeah I’m down. Wanna grab some food though first?”
“I lowkey told him I’d be at his house by 10:30 so we should probably get going. I’m sure he has some sort of food though.”
You nod. “Cool. I’m ready to go if you want to finish changing?”
Joost laughs. “Yeah, let me put a shirt on and grab my phone.”
You pause. He was such an idiot sometimes. You could see his phone in his pocket. “Uh, you mean the phone in your pocket?” You say, pointing at the outline in his pants.
He turns bright red, probably from the embarrassment of such a stupid mistake. “Mhm,” He chokes out.
—
The sun had just fallen behind the treeline and you, for the second night in a row, were thoroughly drunk. It had been a good day, you’d gone to Tantu’s, ended up spending the day side questing with Apson, and now you were sitting on Tantu’s living room floor in a circle of all your friends. You were in a spirited game of Truth or Drink, and you were at the point of intoxication where everything was hilarious. “Y/N!” Stunje shouted, “You’re turn!”
“Okay, go for it.”
“What is the weirdest thing a man has done in bed with you?”
There’s giggles from around the room as if you are all teenagers who still feel naughty when the topic of sex comes up. “Uhhh,” You start thinking. “Probably when a guy asked if I could just lay there while he jerked off to me. No contact, no nothing. Just sit on his bed.”
Everyone erupted in laughter and you glanced at Joost. He was grinning– he had heard this story before. You vaguely remembered an awkward moment when you told him all those years ago, where he said something along the lines of, “Makes sense, you’re hot.” You two had never spoken about that.
Joost’s gaze shifted to Apson when he called out to him. “Joosti! You’re turn!”
Joost was in a weird situation where he couldn’t drink– he was driving you home. So while he could totally just skip a question and no one would have a problem with him not taking shot, he was not one to ruin the fun so he answered every single question.
Apson thought for a moment before grinning. “When was the last time you had a wet dream?”
To your suprise, he answered honestly and easily. “Last night.”
Everyone immediately started laughing and teasing him but you froze. You had slept over, IN HIS BED last night. You know it meant nothing, people can’t control dreams, but still.
You met his gaze as he turned laughing. His face faltered when he saw your shocked expression, but he continued to giggle so you took it for what it was: not a weird comment, just funny.
—
While three nights of getting wasted in a row is exactly how you wanted to spend your early 20’s, a sober night out isn’t really that bad. After a peaceful night alone post Joost dropping you off, you had a restful night and day of recovery before finding yourself at a nearby club. You forced some of your friends into going– they were having a classic eurodance night! You were going to abstain from drinking though, your hangover had caught up with you a bit. You just wanted to dance, who can blame you!
The energy in the club was palpable. Everyone around you was smiling and dancing, warm bodies pressing around you in a way that made you forget how scantily clad you were. Joost stood next to you, equally excited. “Want to go dance?” You asked, and he happily agreed.
You danced together for a few songs, Joost making jokes about how they needed some gabber-pop in here. You watched, slightly embarrassed– but entirely love struck, as he hakked to “Rythym Is a Dancer”. At one point you both grew tired, and snuck out the back for a much needed cigarette.
You watched as he withdrew the pack from his pocket. He fumbled with it a bit before pulling out two, handing you one. “I forgot my light,” He said. “You got one?”
“Yeah, probably,” You replied, and begun digging through your bag.
You found sunglasses, a movie ticket stub, and probably 3 Euros in coins in the bottom, but no lighter. The best you had was a matchbook.
“Why the fuck do you only have matches?” Joost asked with a laugh and he took the matchbook from you.
You shrugged. You thought it was a cute when a lifestyle youtuber you watched at 14 carried around matches, so you copied her. “Thought it was cutesy,” You said in reply.
“It is cute,” He replied and proceeded to light his cigarette, ending the statement there.
Cool. Okay.
You had nothing to drink but it didn’t feel like it. You were so goddamn happy and you were with the person you loved most in the world, and it was a summer night, and… everything was just good.
“I’m really lucky to have you Joost,” The words left your lips before you could stop them.
He looked up as he took a drag. He smiled in his exhale. “I’m really lucky to have you too. You’re family to me, you know that.”
You felt yourself deflate at that. It was a harsh reminder, but honestly one you needed. You needed to get over this stupid crush, you didn’t want to lose him. “Yeah,” You replied quietly.
Joost cocked his head at you. “Are you alright?”
You nodded, still trying to mentally reconcile with the fact you’d just lost your last semblance of hope. “I think this break from dancing has just made me realize how tired I am from the last few days.”
Joost accepted that answer. He took another drag before speaking. “Do you wanna just go back to my place? Play some video games ‘n just chill?”
God, he would leave the club just because you were tired. He was making this hard. “That sounds great actually. Thanks.”
“Of course. Although your place is closer, would you mind if we went there instead?”
And you did. The drive home was filled with comfortable conversation, your friend/neighbor was outside when you’d arrive and that was a pleasant conversation. She’d greeted Joost and proceeded to say that she’d fuck the shit out of you in that outfit. Solid.
The elevator ride was spent quietly enjoying each other presence. You never did drain each others social battery.
You threw open the door to your apartment, letting both you and Joost in. “I’m going to go change,” You said, making your way over to your bedroom. “Make yourself comfortable. I think you have some clothes left here if you want me to grab them? I don’t–”
Before you made it fully out the door you were cut off. “I want to,” Joost said, voice low.
You turned, confused. Joost’s elbows were propped up on the counter, his hands running through his hair. He looked oddly… distraught?? You were confused. “What was that?” You asked.
“I said, I. Want. To.” He repeated slowly.
You moved towards him. “Joost whaddya mean? Are you okay?”
He looked up at you, eyes weirdly dim and tired. “What your neighbor said. Tearing off your small ass top and fucking the shit out of you. I. Want. To.”
The words hung in the air as you both became equally fucking shocked. Was this real? Did he just say that? “What..?” You squeaked out.
Regret was painted on his face. You could see the fear swimming in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I don’t know why I said that. That was too far. It’s just—”
He paused, and hung his head. He looked small. “It’s just I’m tired of pretending. It’s hard.”
Your mind was moving a mile a minute. You had just given up, and apparently… so had he? He just was braver, or dumber, and vocalized his emotions. Thank god he did. You felt your hand moving to cup his cheek, and before you relaized what you were doing, your lips pressed into his. He let out out a whine of relief and yes. This is what you’ve been waiting for.
“Seventeen year old me is fucking screaming right now Joost,” You said pulling away.
He looked fucking elated. His pupils were blown out and he was staring at you with a look of pure adoration. “Come back,” He stammers out, and you oblige.
You makeout in your kitchen like teenagers, catching up on all the lost time. At some point he has you pressed up against a wall, fully supporting you with your legs wrapped around his waist. He pulls away after what feels like forever to breathlessly ask; “Can I take you to your room?”
You nod furiously before firmly reattaching your lips to his. He makes his way into your bedroom slowly, accidentally bumping into multiple walls along the way and letting out a little ‘Fuck! Whoops!” everytime.
He accidentally walks straight into your dresser, causing him to drop you. “Fuck! Sorry Y/N!”
You laughed and pulled him in for a quick peck. “What word do you think you’ve used more in your life, “fuck” or my name?”
He giggles at the question, lips brushing against your neck. “Probably both combined, given how much I used to jerk off.” He mumbled against your skin.
The words went straight down your spine. He’d wanted this as long as you did, cool. You moaned at the thought, and Joost pushed you onto the bed. His hand moves from your ass, around to the front of tiny skirt, and presses his palm against the fabric right over your cunt. “Open for me.”
Joost never demanded anything of you, but you liked this new side of him. You listen, your legs parting just enough for him.
He yanks down your skirt, the cold air of your room hitting your skin. He slips his hand down past the waistband, past the elastic of your panties. His fingers find you—and you’re already so, so wet for him. A slick, drenched mess of need. You can tell– its driving him insane.
“Aah-h,” you cry out as his middle finger sinks into your dripping slit, while he uses his thumb to rub your clit in a relentless circle. “Oh, god, yes—don’t stop.”
“So responsive. And so wet.” He pushes a second finger inside you, and you cry out, bucking against his hand to chase the friction. “You can be as loud as you want. Literally been waiting years to hear you like this.”
You listen, and loudly whine in protest when he withdraws. But it’s only to pull your panties down your legs. Then, he yanks up the hem of your shirt with an impatient roughness that fans the flames inside you. You lift your arms, helping him peel the fabric away, before he releases the front clasp of your bra.
The garment falls away, and his eyes widen, his gaze devouring the sight of your breasts. “Never been able to get a proper look… Jesus Christ. Look at you.”
He leans down and takes your nipple into his mouth, his tongue laving it before his lips close, sucking hard. “Ah, fuck Joo!” You arch your back, your hands finding their way to his head.
He growls low and switches to your other nipple, giving it the same attention. Your hips rock against him, an instinctual, needy rhythm. He releases your nipple with a wet pop and cradles each breast in his palms, seemingly weighing them in a curious manner that is somehow the most erotic thing you’ve ever seen.
His thumbs circle your areolas, the rough pads making the sensitive skin prickle and your nipples further tighten. He pushes them together, creating a deep valley of cleavage, and lowers his head to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your sternum. A choked sob escapes you, a sound of helpless pleasure as he pinches one nipple, twisting it.
“Aah, Joost, please—”
“Please what?” he interrupts, his eyes, dark and molten, flitting up to meet yours. “Please stop? Or please fuck you so hard these perfect tits bounce until you can’t see straight?” He flicks your other nipple with his finger, making your cunt clench. “I can’t say I’ve never thought about what they would look like covered in my cum.”
Fuck how much you liked that Joost was respectful, this was a million times better.
You moan in response as he lifts you from the bed, pulling you towards its edge. Your thighs are spread wide, dangling off the edge, granting him an unobstructed view of the prize.
He kneels on the floor between your legs. His thumbs press into the soft flesh of your inner thighs, spreading you wider still, as if pinning a specimen for study. A shudder racks your body under his clinical, yet ravenous, inspection.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs. Then his tongue swipes a single, devastating line from your perineum right up over your clit.
A strangled scream rips from your throat, your whole body jolting like you’ve touched a live wire. Your fingers scrabble for purchase over your sheets. Joost chuckles, a dark, throaty sound, and doesn’t give you a moment to recover. He latches on, his tongue a masterful instrument playing a song your body has only dreamed of.
“Oh god!” you cry out, biting your lip so hard, you’re surprised you haven’t broken skin.
He laps at you, his tongue tracing the delicate folds of your labia before flicking against your clit. His fingers dig into your ass, lifting you closer, tilting your pelvis up to grant him even deeper access, making you see stars.
“Yes, right there—right there,” you pant, the words slurring together.
He groans into you, a guttural sound of approval. He circles your clit, teasing—before he dives in again, sucking and giving it a tug. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, your pussy clenching around his tongue. Then he pulls away, and you whine from the loss of contact.
You blink, trying to focus, and find him looking up at you, his chin dripping with your slick. “Good?” he asks, his voice rough.
You nod, coming back to earth, before slowly moving to switch positions. Joost was now above you as you tore off his jeans. There was a massive wet spot on his boxers… “Joost?” You asked, and he looked down at you.
“Oh, yeah. Came the second you got a hand in my hair. I’m all good though, don’t worry.”
And worry you don’t. You pull his dick out and open your mouth wide to receive him. A shudder works its way through Joost’s frame as you take him in.
Slowly, you let your head dip, taking more of him. The shaft is impossibly thick, a solid column that threatens to gag you. But you push past the discomfort, driven by a need to know all of him. You suckle hard, creating a vacuum that pulls a strangled cry from his throat, making his body go rigid.
“Fuck … more,” he gasps, the word a raw, shredded thing.
You wrap your hand around the base of his cock. You can feel the powerful thrum of his blood, a frantic, hammering pulse against your palm. His hips slam forward as you squeeze gently, driving him to the very back of your throat, making your eyes water.
You pull back just enough to breathe, your lips sliding wetly along the thick shaft—before you dive back down, swallowing him whole once more. You find a rhythm, a steady bobbing that makes his breath catch and his legs tremble. The sweet boy you know is gone. In his place is a creature of pure instinct, grunting your praise, his hips moving in time with your mouth.
“You’re perfect,” he chokes out, his head thrown back. “So fucking … ahhh … good. Been waiting… better than I have ever imagined.”
You work your tongue around him, tracing up and down. He hisses through his teeth. His control is snapping; you can feel it in the way his muscles are locking up, the way his breath comes in short pants.
“A-ah … shit, I … you’re …” He can’t finish the sentence. Just as you feel him begin to pulse, to truly lose control, he pulls you off him, his movements rough and urgent. “Stop.”
He hauls you to your feet and practically throws you back onto the bed. He turns you over onto your stomach, pulling your hips up. Moving your thighs apart, he positions himself at your entrance. He nudges the thick, wet head of his cock against your slick folds, and you gasp, lifting your hips.
“Ready to have our friendship thoroughly and irrevocably ruined?” he pants, his breath hot and ragged.
“Fuck me, Joost,” you sob, spreading yourself wider for him. “Please.”
He presses into your slit just an inch, the head stretching you. “Hold still,” he orders, his voice a low rumble against your back. He holds himself there at the threshold. Letting your body acclimate. You can feel the muscles in his thighs tense as he maintains his position, his breath ghosting over your neck. “Please, let me in.”
You sob, shuddering, and try to do as he says. You force your muscles to relax. He pushes forward slowly, inch by inch. A controlled slide that steals your breath and makes you see spots. It’s better than anyone either of you have hab before.
His chest is a solid, cool wall against your back, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady. “There,” he grunts, his voice thick with strained control. “Better?”
You can only nod, your face pressed into the bed. He takes your answer as consent and pushes deeper. A low, keening moan builds in your throat.
“Aah … Joost, you’re so … so big,” you pant, the words torn from you as he finally sinks all the way in. He’s completely buried inside you, a perfect, tight fit.
He stays still for a few moments, letting you adjust. Then, he pulls back, a torturously slow drag. The head scrapes against your walls on its way out, and you cry out again. He doesn’t withdraw entirely, just leaves the tip nestled inside you before he thrusts back in in one powerful, soul-stealing stroke.
“Fuck!” Your body convulses around him.
He starts a rhythm, a tempo that slams his pubic bone against your ass, the sound a wet, percussive slap in the quiet room. His hands leave your hips to splay across your back, his fingers digging into your skin as he drives into you again and again.
You arch your back, pushing up into him. “Oh god, it feels so … aah!” you shriek, your voice already raw.
The bedframe rattles with the force of his thrusts as he pounds into you. Pleasure coils tight and sharp in your belly, a supernova on the verge of collapsing. “I’m close,” you sob, your face pressed into the cool sheets. “Joost, I’m gonna—”
He pulls out abruptly, leaving you empty and gasping, your orgasm stalling painfully at its peak. “Not yet,” he growls.
Before you can protest, he flips you onto your back. He grabs your ankles and shoves your legs up, hooking them over his broad shoulders, opening you up completely to his gaze. “Look at me,” he commands.
You meet his eyes, seeing the lust there that he’s hidden for so long. He watches the muscles of your belly clench as he pushes the head of his cock back inside you. The slick slide is obscene, a sensation you crave with every fiber of your being.
Then he drives back into you. The new angle is devastating. He’s deeper now, the head of his cock rubbing exquisitely against that spot inside you, dragging along your inner walls and whitening the edges of your vision. You cry out, your fingers scrabbling for purchase on the table.
“So tight,” he pants, watching your face as he fucks you. He reaches down, his thumb finding your clit again, stroking it as he continues to pound into you.
“Aaaah! That feels … oh god!” The dual stimulation is too much, an overload to your system. “I’m gonna …!”
He moves, each pump feeling like he’s rearranging your insides. You buck your hips, trying to take him deeper, but he controls the pace. His thumb circles your clit faster, a merciless friction that pushes you right to the precipice.
Your back bows off the bed as you scream. Your whole body seizes, a violent, bucking tremor that clenches your inner muscles around his shaft like a vise. He groans, a deep, wounded sound, his eyes screwing shut as your orgasm milks him. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, so intense it’s almost painful. You sob his name over and over, the sound garbled and broken as your pussy spasms around him.
His control finally shatters.
He thrusts into you without restraint. Driven by a desperate, single-minded focus, he rides the aftershocks of your climax, chasing his own release.
“Ah … almost …” he pants, his body shuddering with the strain.
He’s close, so very close.
But just as he’s about to careen over the edge, he withdraws and moves to where your head rests on the bed. His breath comes in ragged, desperate gasps. He’s completely unraveled, his face a mask of raw, frantic need. “Mouth,” he chokes out, his eyes blown wide.
You open your mouth and take in his head. The taste of him mixed with yourself is intoxicating. He shoves his hips forward, burying himself to the back of your throat in one powerful, gagging thrust. Tears spring to your eyes, but you take it. All of it. He groans, his hips beginning to pump in a desperate rhythm against your mouth.
A choked whimper escapes your throat, half protest, half pleading encouragement. Your eyes water, your jaw aches. His whole body is a taut, quivering wire, vibrating on the very edge of snapping.
“Fuck!”
His hips give a final jerk.
He pulls back slowly, his shaft dripping with his seed and your saliva. You’re left panting for air, your face smeared with the evidence of his climax. His eyes, dark and glazed with spent pleasure, fix on the absolute mess he’s made of you as he nearly collapses against the bed. There’s something possessive and savagely triumphant in their depths.
Slowly, you push yourself up into a sitting position. His hooded gaze follows you, watching a trail of his cum drip from your chin onto your bare chest. A slow smile plays on your lips, and you wipe your cheek with the back of your hand.
“Hey,” you say, your voice a husky whisper. He just grunts in response, a low, satisfied sound deep in his chest. “I’m surprised you didn’t cum on my tits.”
A low chuckle rumbles through him. “I know.” He reaches out, his thumb gently wiping a stray drop from your lower lip. “I’m saving that for next time.”
can some1 motivate me to format the fic ive had in my drafts for a week so i can finally post it im so damn lazy (also thank u @joostsmullet it is entirely based off your " ftl but they just start fucking like animals" idea)
Hiiiii i have been reading your fics and i love them so much so if you want i have a request for you ^^!
So what about a streamer reader x Joost ,I just give you the idea you can continue it with whatever you want I only request a fluff one ,hope you read this !! <33
hi anon! thank u smsmsm. I kinda did just my favorite trope which is like relationship reveal, idk why i just love it lol. Sidenote i actually was super excited to get this request because one of my friends is a professional streamer so i got a lil bit of background knowledge on this B-) (i lowkey dont give a fuck about any of the algorithim shit tho everytime its in one ear n out the other) anyway hope u enjoy!! (sorry if its terrible, i havent slept in 44 hours and im high out of my mind)
You glanced at the clock that resided on the bottom corner of your screen. You’d been streaming for almost two hours, so you had about another hour left. You didn’t mind it of course, in fact, you were doing one of your favorite “Just Chatting” games: Rating My Chat’s Music Taste.
You already took any excuse to listen to music, and getting dono-ed €10 for every song you listened to definitely sweetened the deal. Music was one of you favorite things in the world, and while you unfortunately don’t have a single musically inclined bone in your body, you luckily have a boyfriend who does. You love his music, everything he releases you consider pure gold. Which is why it was hard to keep a neutral expression on you face when a dono requested Bier Freestyle by Joost Archive.
First of all, you had to give the chatter credit: that’s a fairly deepcut. Great song too. But you couldn’t react. See, both of your fanbases have no idea you two are dating. They know both of you aren’t single, but you only exist as an adlib in some songs to them and he only exists as a knock at your door before a cut to your “be back soon” screen.
“Bier Freestyle,” You read out slowly. “Hm, never heard of this guy.”
You opened spotify as you scanned the chat. “Oh he’s a dutch artist? Is he from Amsterdam?” You say, eyes reading every chat to ensure everyone was buying it.
Of course they were, they’d have no reason not to. “Oh wait I’ve heard of him. The friesenjung guy, right.”
Your press play and lean back in your chair.
Ha Joost, how are you? I want to see you bro, I'm Rotterdam, always Rotterdam.
You smiled at that lyric. He dropped the song shortly after the two of you had moved out of Rotterdam, and it felt like a easter egg just for the two of you. Though you quickly corrected your face, because why on earth would you being grinning like that, and instead opted for a blank expression as you slowly nodded to the music. Right before the chorus fades back in, you receive a text.
Joo <3 : why do u look like you hate my song >:(
You tried your best to contain your grin. He was watching the stream? You thought he was out running errands.
You: i am being discreet
You: undercover
You: yktv
You: also are u not at the supermarket..?
Joost was quick to reply.
Joo <3: i was just listening to it
Joo <3: i like the sound of ur voice
Joo <3: but then i heard my song
You couldn’t stop the blush from creeping up your neck and you glanced at chat to see if they noticed. They did, the entire chat just copy and pasting “boyfriend text” or just “boyfriend”. You shook your head slightly, and shot Joost a final text.
You: ur adorable i love u
You caught the ending of the song, giggling slightly at “Ze heeft genoten van m'n noten met wat bier erbij,” and then had to deliver your final verdict. “It was good!” You started, but a dono cut you off. “You were distracted for most of it. Listen to another: Ome Robert.”
It was close to impossible to keep from giggling. Joost showed you that song as he was working on it, all they way back on your second date. Now look where you were. The opening notes played and it felt like you were 21 again, quickly falling in love with the silly tall Dutch who you had mutual friends with.
The repeating line of “Suck my dick, bitch!” started to play and you audibly laughed, still as entertained by the south park reference as ever. You received another message notification at the same time, and you went to check it.
Joo <3: i luv u too ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
Joo <3: i am on the elevator up btw
Joo <3: im gonna come say hi
You smile again, shaking your head slightly as you say, “Sorry chat. I gotta disappear for a sec.”
You quickly open screenlabs and hit the “be right back screen” button, before opening the door to your office the second you heard a knock. Joost was grinning down at you, faintly smelling of cigarette smoke. “Hi love,” You said softly as he pulled you in for a hug.
“Hi,” He mumbled as he kissed the top of your head. “I missed you.”
“It’s been two hours!”
“Still. I fucking hate the supermarket.”
You pulled away from where you nestled your head into his chest to shoot him a look “Joost do you not remember from like 2019-2021 I did all the shopping–”
Joost grabbed your face in his hands and kissed you, purposefully cutting you off. “Asshole!” You laugh, playfully pushing him away while he raised his hands in mock defeat.
“Your asshole though!” He grinned, slowly backing out of the room, letting you go back to work. You smiled as you walked back to your desk, because yeah, he was yours. You quickly went to turn stream back on, before staring at the screen in confusion. Why was streamlabs showing the “be right back” screen wasn’t turned on? Had you missed the– oh fuck.
You had 25k people watching the stream, and every single one of them seemed to be losing their absolute shit in the chat. “IS DAT JOOST KLEIN?” was spammed from thousands of accounts, your TTS system was broken from the sheer amount of input it was getting, and you were fucking speechless. You swallowed, staring blankly into the camera. “I uh… hm.” You tried to get out. Words felt impossible.
“So that was a mistake.” You finally got out, right as your phone pinged.
Joo <3: well fuck.
Joo <3: can i come in..?
Instead of replying to the text, you just audibly said, “Yeah, come in.”
Your brain wasn’t functioning properly, you had just accidentally revealed an incredibly secret relationship of people with two fairly sizeable careers. A moment later you heard your office door open, and before your viewers knew it, Joost was pulling up a chair and sitting in frame. You glanced up at him, eyes still wide, and he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you in. He planted soft kisses at your hairline, mumbling, “It’s okay, it was a mistake. We should probably say something though.”
You nodded and turned back towards the camera right as a dono read out. “I thought you ‘never heard of this guy’?”
Both of you laughed, surprised, and that was enough to shake you out of your dazed state. “I lied?” You offered up, earning a snort from Joost. You turned to look at your boyfriend and he was staring at you with a smile. His soft blue hair was falling infront of his glasses, and his eyes were shining. You know what, maybe you wouldn’t be so bad having the world know he was yours.
a/n: i didnt edit this. i will not be formatting this. im going to bed. peace.
Description:Joost imposed the idea of going to fryslân for a week in the summer. What happens there though...?
MDNI, 18+ POST
Warnings/tags: fluff, like slow burn to soft sex, p in v with condom, p in v without condom, creampie,
Authors note: Not proof read!,reader isn't implied to be Dutch but is implied to be able to speak Dutch,Google translator Dutch and frisian, hope you enjoy my first fic :>pls note that English isn't my first language so plssss forgive any mistakes! :)
Word count:1,732
Joost was thrilled. The past few days he's been constantly buzzing with energy - texting you every little Update, sending you the weather reports from Leeuwarden like it was breaking news
When you got on the train from Amsterdam to Leeuwarden, he was basically bouncing up and down in his seat,it was adorable to say the least.
After two and a half hours of him not letting you sleep, you finally arrived in fryslân.
You stretched your arms with a yawn, still a bit dazed from the ride, when Joost gave your hand a gentle squeeze.
"Wolkom yn Fryslân," he said,not being able to contain his big, giddy grin.
You couldn’t help but laugh. "Hope you won’t forget Dutch here," you teased, your faint chuckle barely being heard. He chuckled, already pulling your suitcase along like he was on a mission.
His response?"Hope you’ll learn some Frysk here," playfully bumping his shoulder into yours while talking.
You gave him a look — the kind that said "don’t push it" but also "you’re kinda cute for trying."
"Let’s just find the hotel first," you muttered, trying (and failing) to hide your laugh.
After finally waving over a taxi (after 4 failed attempts) you arrive at the hotel
Joost held the hotel door open with a small, over-the-top bow. "After you, mijn koningin."
You stepped inside with a huff of amusement. "You’re so unserious."
The lobby smelled faintly of lavender and wood polish, warm light spilling onto the tiled floors. It was calm, quiet — a sharp contrast to the buzz of the train and Joost’s constant narrating of every passing cow.
"Not bad," he said, nudging your shoulder as you both walked to the front desk.
The check-in didn’t take long. Joost chatted casually with the receptionist in Dutch, tossing you a little smile now and then like he was proud of showing off. Within minutes, you were riding up in the small elevator, Joost humming softly beside you.
The hotel room wasn’t huge, but it was clean and warm. A big bed sat in the middle, fluffy duvets folded neatly, and a small window gave a peek at the street below.
As soon as the door shut behind you, Joost flopped onto the bed with a dramatic groan.
"You’ve been here five seconds," you said, setting your bag down by the chair.
"And yet," he replied muffled into the pillow, "I am one with this bed now."
You let out a quiet laugh, slipping your shoes off. "I’m gonna freshen up quick. Then maybe going out for dinner?"
He raised a thumbs up without moving. "Only if I don’t fall asleep first."
"don't worry i'll wake you up" you say, walking off to the bathroom.
"can't make any promises I'll wake up" he joked, his face now turned to side on the pillow.
As you got out of the bathroom and settled in front of the mirror they had on a desk, his eyes watched you intently, after a minute he spoke up "Hey, can I help..?"
You looked over your shoulder, raising a brow.
"My face isn’t a canvas for experiments, Joost."
He grinned, already getting up and walking over. "Oh come on, I’m very precise. Steady hands. Musical hands, actually."
You rolled your eyes, but handed him the blush anyway. "Alright then, maestro. Impress me."
He took it with exaggerated seriousness, tapping a bit too much powder onto the brush. His tongue peeked out slightly as he focused, gently dabbing your cheek.
"That’s not bad," you said, checking the mirror.
"That’s not great either," he replied, examining his work critically. "Round two?"
A laugh bubbled out of you as he leaned in again, totally absorbed.
"Okay okay," you said, taking the blush back.
"That’s enough artistry for one afternoon."
He flopped dramatically onto the bed again, arms stretched out. "Now I need to get ready."
You smirked, tossing a clean shirt at him. "Then chop chop, sleepyhead."
While you were finishing up your makeup, he pulled his suitcase open and started carefully inspecting each item, fingers grazing the fabrics like he was making an important decision. You glanced over your shoulder. He looked almost too serious about it.
"Planning a fashion show?" you teased.
He didn’t even look up. "This is a fashion show."
A beat passed, then— "Liefjeee, can I pick your outfit today?"
You raised an eyebrow in the mirror. "You trust yourself with that responsibility?"
He gasped dramatically. "Excuse me? I am a visionary."
You chuckled, and before you could even respond, he was already halfway into your suitcase like a man on a mission. Holding up one top, then another, squinting like he was analyzing the emotional backstory of each piece.
"Okay but this color? This would eat. And with those jeans? No one’s ready."
He kept going—five whole minutes of pure hype, throwing compliments like confetti while tossing clothes onto the bed. "You don’t understand how lucky the world is to witness you in this fit," he said, placing his hand over his heart like it physically pained him.
Eventually, you just flopped back on the bed, laughing. "You should be illegal."
"And yet," he smirked, offering you the chosen top like it was sacred, "here I am."
Before you could even argue, he was already halfway into your suitcase, flipping through your clothes like a stylist on a tight deadline. He held up a top, squinted dramatically, then tossed it aside. Then he froze with another in his hands, turned to you with a grin, and in the most exaggerated American accent said,
"Okay but this color? This would eat. And the jeans? No one’s ready."
"let's just go out already"
Arrived at the restaurant, it was soft, cozy, the lights dim, the chairs mismatched, the air reeking of good food, the sound of people talking all over the place.
Joost looked around and let out a satisfied little "Hmm", nodding to himself.
"This is niceeee," he grinned, sliding into the seat across from you. "You see that lamp? It’s crooked. That means the food slaps."
You laughed, shaking your head. "That’s not how restaurants work."
"It is exactly how restaurants work," he shot back, already reaching for the menu but barely glancing at it. His eyes flicked up to meet yours again.
He reached across the table, gently plucking a crumb off your cheek with a teasing little smirk. "Messy eater," he said softly, but his thumb lingered just a second longer than needed.
You rolled your eyes with a quiet laugh, but your skin still burned where he’d touched. "Better than loud chewer," you shot back, watching his grin deepen.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The clatter and chatter around you blurred out, like you were sitting in your own little world. You could feel his gaze settle—slow, thoughtful, warm.
He leaned in just a bit, arms crossed on the table, voice lower now. "Did I tell you how happy I am you’re here?"
You smiled, heart catching a little. "You might’ve mentioned it once or twice."
It made the candle between you flicker like it knew something was about to bloom..
To finish off you each got a glass of wine, or eventually it'd turn into two..?
He raised his glass slightly, "To Fryslân—and to having you here."
You clinked yours against his. "To Joost dragging me to the middle of nowhere."
He laughed, that full, carefree kind that always made your chest flutter. "Rude, but fair."
A few sips in, the buzz started kicking in—warm, cozy, a little light-headed. He rested his chin in his hand, eyes soft as they scanned over you. "You look really good tonight," he said, casual but sincere.
Your cheeks flushed. "That the wine talking?"
He grinned. "Nope. That’s been brewing all day."
You tried to fight the smile tugging at your lips, but it was no use. The mood had shifted—still playful, but there was something else simmering underneath. His hand found yours across the table, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.
The air outside had cooled, but neither of you felt it—your cheeks warm from the wine and something heavier hanging between you. He called an Uber, his hand brushing your lower back as he guided you in.
. His hand slid over, resting gently on your thigh. Warm. Intentional. You didn’t look at him—just leaned slightly closer, and that was enough.
His thumb started tracing slow circles. Not fast. Not urgent. Just… there.
You glanced down at where his hand sat. "Getting bold, aren’t we?"
His voice dropped, barely above a whisper. "Been thinking about you since before dinner. You looked too good."
The car turned a corner, headlights casting brief shadows over his face. His expression didn’t change—still that same soft hunger.
You bit your lip and said nothing.
The rest of the ride was quiet.
Heavy with silence that wasn't awkward—it was charged. Anticipation threading between glances, between breaths.
When the driver finally stopped in front of the hotel, Joost didn’t move right away. He looked at you. You looked at him. And this time, you were the one who reached first.
"Let’s go."
Entering the hotel, he grabbed your hand, interlocking your fingers with his before stepping into an open elevator, pulling you in behind him.
The elevator ride? A whole experience.
He picked you up effortlessly, lips crashing into yours—he didn’t feel like bending down when he could just hold you instead. You melted into it, your mouths moving fast, kisses messy, eager. Tongue brushing your bottom lip, asking—no, begging—for permission.
The elevator dinged.
He stepped out like it was nothing, still holding you, still kissing you when he could. At the door of your suite, he fumbled with the card, finally managing to unlock it without letting go of you.
The second you were in the room, he kicked the door shut behind him and carried you to the bed—surprisingly gentle, like he’d been rough with everything except you.
"God, been waiting all day for this, schatje," he groaned, climbing onto the bed with you. His hands cupped your cheeks as he pulled you into another kiss, deep and eager. One hand trailed down to the neckline of your dress, tugging it down your shoulders, his fingers a little shaky with anticipation.
He broke the kiss for a breath, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you. "You know you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen," he murmured, eyes drinking you in. That smile you gave him was his favourite.
You didn’t reply—just crashed your lips into his again. Your hands worked at his belt, fumbling slightly from the rush. He grinned into the kiss, helping you unclasp it with one smooth motion, letting you unzip his pants. He lifted his hips slightly, letting you slide them down with ease, leaving him in his boxers
Finally separating for some much needed air, he was quick to take off his shirt, leaving him in only boxers. But his eyes never left yours. "Y’know I think this is a bit uneven," he murmured, voice dropping as he laid you back against the pillows, trailing kisses from your collarbone downward. His fingers moved to unclasp your bra with practiced ease, and once it slipped off, his boxers were gone too—when, you didn’t even notice.
His eyes lingered, dark and hungry, fingers lightly tracing down your sides. "Zo fucking mooi…" he murmured, voice low and hoarse, like he couldn't believe you were real. His mouth followed his hands, lips pressing hot kisses down your chest, nipping gently, sucking a mark just above your heart.
He decided to take it a step further, putting one of his hands on your little panties, pushing it to the side, thumb circling your clit.
When your breath hitched, he grinned against your skin. "Je houdt hiervan, hè?"
(You like this,don't you?)
You could only nod, whimpering a soft "Joost…"
His hands slid lower, palming the back of your thighs before yanking you closer with a strength that had you gasping. "Been thinking about this all fucking day," he muttered, voice rough now, impatient. "Every time you smiled, every time you leaned in—I wanted to ruin you right there."
Then he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your underwear, pausing just long enough to tease, "Mag ik…?" (Can I...?)
The way you whispered "alsjeblieft"—needy and breathless—had him growling low in his throat.
As his fingers dipped under the waistband, he paused again—just for a moment—pressing a kiss to your hip. Then he leaned over, opening the bedside drawer like it was the most casual thing in the world. His hand returned holding a small silver packet, flashing you a grin that was far too pleased with himself.
"You put those there?" you asked, breathless, eyes narrowing in suspicion.
He chuckled, tearing the foil with his teeth. "Misschien," he said with a shrug, his accent thick and teasing. "Let’s just say… I had a good feeling about tonight."
"You’re unbelievable."
"Unbelievably smart," he corrected, leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time. “And definitely not about to take chances with the prettiest girl in Fryslân.”
He laid you down on your back, pulling back from the kiss.
He tore the wrapper open fast with his teeth, sliding the condom on with a low grunt. His eyes met yours, pupils blown wide, and for a second he just looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world he could even see.
But halfway through, when you were clinging to him, gasping into his mouth, he pulled back slightly, panting hard.
"kan het niet meer, schatje.. " (can’t do it anymore, baby.. ) he whispered, voice breaking into Dutch from the haze "Baby.. mag ik.." “Zonder… wil je dat?”
(Without… do you want that?)
The need in his voice made your stomach flip. You nodded, tugging him closer again. He pressed his forehead to yours for a second, breathing shaky, before pulling off the condom and slipping right back in—both of you moaning at the feeling of it, raw, real.
You could feel the knot in your stomach forming, nails digging into his back, god, this felt good. You barely had time to think before he spoke, voice rough against your ear,
"On your hands and knees, liefje."
You blinked up at him, not immediately reacting, your mind hazy from what you had just experienced. He chuckled lowly at your dazed state, his hand sliding down your back.
"Kom op, op je handen en knieën," he repeated, firmer this time,the Dutch rolling off his tongue so easily made you crazy.
Without even giving you a second to recover, Joost gripped your hips, lining himself up again.
You barely caught your breath before he pushed into you in one deep thrust, knocking a whimper out of you.
Joost’s fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to leave little bruises for tomorrow.
You barely had time to catch a breath again before he pulled you back onto him, forcing himself deeper inside you than you thought was even possible.
The new angle had you arching deeper than ever before, a broken cry spilling from your lips.
It was overwhelming, the stretch, the fullness, the wet heat between your legs — your mind went entirely blank.
"Fuck," Joost groaned above you, his voice wrecked and low. "Taking me so good, schatje."
You could only whimper in response, thighs shaking, body helpless against the way he used you — still so gentle, still so loving, but so goddamn much.
He slowed down for a second, keeping you pinned there, buried as deep inside you as he could go.
His thumb found your clit again, rubbing sloppy, desperate circles, pushing you over that edge again, before you even had a chance to recover.
The only thing you could hear was his heavy breathing, the obscene sounds of your bodies, and the low, messy praises falling from his lips.
"mooi... mijn meisje," (Pretty... my girl) he groaned, voice absolutely wrecked with need.
His fingers dug into your waist, guiding you back onto him, setting a brutal pace, the sound of skin slapping filling the room.
Your arms gave out, forehead pressing into the mattress as he rutted into you, the stretch almost overwhelming.
You barely registered his hand snaking around to your front, rubbing messy circles over your clit, chasing your second orgasm.
“Kom voor me, schatje. Laat me voelen.”
(Cum for me, schatje. Let me feel you.)
His words were low, desperate — begging.
When you finally came, clenching around him, Joost cursed under his breath, thrusts growing uneven before he buried himself deep one final time, spilling inside you with a broken moan.
He stayed inside for a moment, panting against your back, almost collapsing over you.
When he finally pulled out, he couldn't help but watch, hypnotized, as his cum slowly leaked out of you, thumb gently pressing against your entrance to push it back in.
"Zo vol van mij," (So full of me.)
Your body was shaking by the time he thrusted into you again, and again, grinding himself deep inside you, spilling into you with a broken groan against your neck.
The feeling of him filling you up had you shuddering, tipping into another orgasm you didn't even know you could reach anymore — a third, messier, sloppier high that left you sobbing into the sheets.
You could feel it, his cum leaking out of you already, your thighs trembling from the overstimulation, but he didn’t pull away immediately — he stayed there, chest pressed to your back, his hand still splayed wide over your stomach like he was claiming you.
Finally, after a few heavy breaths, Joost pulled out with a groan, and you whimpered at the loss.
He smirked, grabbing a tissue half-heartedly from the nightstand to wipe you down a little — though his thumb still lazily spread the mess over your inner thigh with a teasing glint in his eyes.
“Ruined you," he murmured, the grin on his face visible.
You were too fucked out to argue.
Instead, you just flopped back onto the bed, boneless and hazy.
Joost chuckled softly, rolling over onto his back next to you.
He reached over to the nightstand again — this time, for a crumpled pack of camel blue.
He lit one, took a slow drag, and then turned his head to look at you, messy and glowing in the soft hotel room light.
He offered the pack toward you with a satisfied look on his face.
Description: Three years after you and Joost said your goodbyes on the stairs outside your apartment, you watch his dream being taken away from him, and decide to break no-contact. It reawakens the feelings you were sure were gone.
Author's note: i would say this is a mix of fluff and angst? There's definitely some cheesy romance in there, lol. I hope you like it! I think i owed you something a little less heartbreaking this time!
Warnings: sex is mentioned but nothing descriptive, alcohol
Word count: 10.1 k
This a sequel to: Glimpse of us - all parts linked in the last part
You turn the TV on for background noise while cleaning. You’ve done that countless time, not just for company, but because it helped your Dutch more than any textbook ever could. Month by month, word by word, you improved. And now you’re proud to say you understand so much more — the evening news, the movies, even the lyrics of some songs— all of it helped you reach the higher level, the level that kept your job secure and your life stable.
It’s been over five years since you first got here, and you’ve almost forgotten what it was like to live anywhere else. You’ve reached that point where you feel like a stranger in your home country. It’s still your home, but every time you go back, you miss the narrow streets of Amsterdam and the coziness of your apartment. You miss the life you have here. Somewhere along the way, this city, this apartment, this life — they stopped being temporary. They became home.
You glance at your vibrating phone and see a message from Kevin — the guy you’ve been seeing for the last two months. You haven’t defined the relationship yet, but it’s definitely heading in that direction, and making it official seems to be on the horizon. He’s gone on a work trip and you won’t see him for the next few weeks — a first test for your relationship. You really thought it might work this time.
It’s been a long time since you dated someone seriously. There were flings, brief connections, few men who hovered around the edge of something more, but you couldn’t bring yourself to agree to a relationship — they just didn’t seem like the kind of guy you’d want to spend your life with. It’s not that you were too demanding — you just wanted someone that could hold a good conversation, someone you knew you wouldn’t get bored with. So far none of the guys you met felt like that kind of person. Some of your friends laughed, saying you were looking for your prince charming, but all you wanted someone you’d feel that click with.
“This Saturday, Joost Klein will represent the Netherlands in The Eurovision Song Contest” you hear from the TV. You freeze mid-step, mop still in hand, your eyes locking on the screen.
Joost.
It’s been three years since that last goodbye — him standing in the rain on the stairs just below your apartment, the final words hanging in the air between you. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet also it could’ve happened just last week. You watched him on TV, wearing that ridiculous blue suit that he would’ve laughed at back then. You watch him, stunned by the transformation. It’s hard to reconcile this version of him with the boy you used to know.
He was still that funny, bubbly guy, who lit up every room he entered. But when you caught glimpses of him on TV or scrolling through clips online, you noticed how much he had matured. The themes in his songs had shifted — less bragging, more vulnerability. He spoke openly about things he used to bury under jokes.
He still looked like your Joost in so many ways, but the man on the screen had evolved beyond the boy you once knew. You wonder if he would say the same about you.
After you broke up, he tried to contact you a few times — an invitation to his album launch party, a drunk “I miss you” text or a whole paragraph about how much he still loved you. As much as it hurt, you didn’t answer, afraid of being pulled back into the toxic cycle. You knew too well where that road led.
Eventually, the messages became less frequent, until they stopped altogether.
Now, he was just a memory — a familiar face in a music video, a name you dropped when the conversation with new friends turned to music. Sometimes people got excited, pressing you for stories: “What was he really like?”, “Was he that nice offstage?” You’d smile politely and offer the safest line you knew — that he was a good guy, things just didn’t work out. You didn’t want to ruin his career, or spread rumors, so you kept the details of your relationship to yourself.
You still had that warm feeling in your chest whenever you saw his face — as much as you’d moved on from the relationship, he was a part of your history, one of the people who helped shape the person you are now. You forgave him a long time ago, and there wasn’t any bad blood between you. There was no grudge, no resentment — but also, no need to reopen that door.
You truly wished him well. It made you oddly proud to see him thriving, evolving, turning his pain into songs that were loved by so many people. His music was richer now, more layered — like he’d finally started to understand himself. He was a good guy, at heart. Just someone trying to quiet the noise in his own head. Weren’t we all?
You turn off the TV and wonder if you should order some food — you really don't feel like cooking today. But the neglected vegetables in your fridge were starting to look a little too wild, like they might start a rebellion if left alone much longer.
You spend the rest of the day cooking, watching a movie, and updating your CV — you really wanted to find a new job.
You’re just about to pour yourself a glass of wine, when a message pops up on your phone:
Clara: “OMG, Have you heard? Disqualification???”
Your brows knit together in confusion. Disqualification? From what?
“What?” You quickly type back.
She sends you a link to an article about Joost’s disqualification from the Eurovision Song Contest. You have to sit down to read through it, each sentence more unbelievable than the last. Threatening behavior, lack of control, violence, issues with other delegations.
Your eyebrows raise higher and higher as you read, unable to believe what you’re seeing.
It all seems ridiculous. You could believe this about anyone — but not Joost. It just didn’t add up.
This was what drew you to him from the very beginning — he was so gentle that you never once felt in danger when he was around. Even when he was drunk, he was never aggressive or violent. If anything, you might have expected that kind of behavior from yourself, but never from him He never got into fights; violence went against everything he stood for. Sure, he enjoyed a heated argument, a sharp discussion, but it was always confined to words — never crossed the line into something violent.
He must be devastated. The thought crosses your mind, and a wave of sudden sadness washes over you. You haven’t felt that in a while, but knowing Joost — how dedicated he was to everything that he did, how he always poured an insane amount of effort into his work — you know he must feel horrible now.
You remember how hard he fought for that spot at the Eurovision. For so long. Not for the fame, but for the meaning. And now his dream — his thoughtful tribute to his parents — it’s all gone.
You can’t help but scroll through your photos, searching for the last picture you took together. You wonder if he has someone to wipe the tears from his face. You know he has incredible friends, who always supported him, but part of you hopes he has someone to give him that kind of unconditional love. Someone whose arms feel like home. Because you know — more than anyone — how much he needed that now.
Unintentionally, you open your messages — and then you freeze.
Should you write him? He’s going through hard time — he should get as much support as possible, right?
Yeah, but maybe that support should come from his friends — not from his ex who hasn’t talked to him in, what — three years? That can’t be undone with one sympathetic text.
Wouldn’t it look stupid? Like you were just looking for an excuse to talk to him? Or worse, like you were being nosy, trying to find out what happened?
You bite the inside of your cheek and scroll to the last message from him — a happy birthday from last year. You didn’t even bother to respond. And now you’re going to ask him about his feelings?
Would he even recognize your number? Would he read it and laugh? Or worse — feel nothing?
“Hey, i just heard the news, are you okay? Do you need to talk?”
You reread it a couple of times.
No, it sounds stupid. Need to talk? Who are you, his therapist? You delete the last sentence. Then retype it. Then delete it again. Every version feels wrong — too formal, too cold, too personal, too much.
You sigh, letting the phone rest in your hand — there it is again, that space between wanting to care and not knowing if you have right to.
“Hey, i just heard about the DQ. Are you holding up?”
You delete it quickly. Of course he’s not holding up.
You sigh. It feels like no matter what you write, it will sound stupid.
But it’s just a message, a couple of words on a screen. Why are your hands shaking?
“Hey. Is everything alright? Are you ok?”
It still doesn’t sound right, but it’s not going to get any better. But no amount of rewriting will make it perfect. It’s not about saying the right thing. It’s just about letting him know you’re here, if he needs it.
You put the phone down, suddenly unsure again. Maybe you should’t send anything at all. Maybe this is about you, not him. Maybe silence is a better choice.
You stare at the screen for a few seconds.
Oh fuck it, it’s just a message.
You hit send.
Delivered.
Now you wait. You stare at the screen, and the more time passes, the more you start to believe he’s not going to answer. Maybe he changed his number. But more likely - he just has more important things to deal with right now than your message.
He has people. Real people. The kind who’ve stood beside him through every high and low. Friends who love him fiercely, who would drop everything for him. But still, knowing he’s hurting has stirred up feelings you haven’t touched in years. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing.
Because you remember exactly how it felt to love him — the intensity, the emotional chaos, and how it always felt like you were at war with yourself.
You used to support him at every step of his career — before the sold-out shows, before the press interview, before everyone in Europe knew his name.
You were more then just a girlfriend. You were part of the process — giving feedback on lyrics, music videos, and discussing his ideas. He genuinely valued your opinions — you were always the first person he came to when he wanted to take the next step.
You liked that. You liked being someone whose thoughts mattered.
He used to say you had a creative mind, that you could make something brilliant if you let yourself. He had told you that you belonged in that world.
But you couldn’t see it. You didn’t think you could handle the criticism, the spotlight, or the constant noise that came with it.
You were always impressed by his creativity — it felt endless, he constantly had new ideas that evolved into more ideas, and whenever he was working on something new, he could talk about it for hours. But you never complained — you loved seeing him so passionate and excited about his projects.
You wished you had this passion — for your work, or honestly, for anything at all. You admired how dedicated he was, how his eyes lit up when he had a new concept, or when his music got good reviews. And you were genuinely happy for him — because if anyone deserved that kind of joy, that kind of purpose — it was him.
As the day comes to an end, you come to terms with the fact that he’s not going to answer. Maybe the number still works, maybe he read the message. Maybe he didn’t. Either way, you know he’s not reaching back.
He probably has someone now — someone who knows how to comfort him in the ways he needs, someone whose arms feel like safety. Someone who tells him he didn’t deserve this, that he’s more than this moment. And you are happy for him. Truly.
Even if there’s a small sting of jealousy, you know you have no right to feel it. It was you who ended things. You who decided not to give him another chance — not three years ago, and not any of the times he reached out afterward, asking for one. He has every right not to not answer. Every right to never speak again if that’s what he chooses. And you have to accept that.
***
Over the next few days, you almost forget about that message, as you get caught up in job interviews and your friends’ heart problems. Every now and then, you hear something about him — a headline here, a mention there, but you just hope he’s doing well and that with time, he’ll feel better. There’s nothing more you can do.
You offered your support, but you can understand that comfort from someone who once turned him away during a vulnerable moment might not be what he needs.
You start getting ready for a yoga class — a new, healthy habit you’re trying to stick to. You’re halfway through stuffing a towel, water bottle and change of clothes into your gym bag, when you hear a knock at the door.
You frown. You didn’t invite anyone — maybe it’s someone from building maintenance or a neighbor needing something. You leave your bag on the table, half-zipped, and hurry to the door, hoping this will be quick.
But when you open it — the air shifts.
The last time you saw him was on those steps outside your apartment. Years have passed. You haven’t seen him since, not in real life, not this close. But the moment your eyes meet, your stomach curls into that same unmistakeable knot — the one you thought had unraveled long ago.
He’s changed. Completely. Platinum blonde mullet. Baggy jeans — the kind he would have never worn back in 2019 when you met — and a hoodie. It’s a simple, casual outfit, but somehow it makes him look better than ever.
But his eyes — his eyes are exactly the same.
That piercing, crystal blue. Like a summer sky on a cloudless day.
“Joost.” you say, but it comes out more of a whisper.
You can’t bring yourself to say anything else. When you sent that message, you thought you had prepared yourself for every possible outcome — a polite reply, complete silence, maybe even a cold rejection. A call maybe, if he was feeling nostalgic. A block, if he was angry.
But not this.
Not him, standing there. In person. On your doorstep.
For a split second, it almost feels like a pattern — how he appears without warning. Last time, it was the same: no warning, no message — just him. And again, you’re caught completely unprepared, not just for his presence, but for the memories and emotions that come rushing with it. You don’t know what to say. You don’t even know what you’re feeling.
You both stand there, looking at each other as if neither of you knows what to say. What’s the proper etiquette in situations like this? Should you engage in small talk? Should you just ask why he’s here?
After what feels like forever — both of you frozen in the doorway, exchanging glances — he finally speaks, his voice quiet:
“Can I come in?” His voice is quieter than you remember. Less playful.
You’re so taken aback by his sudden appearance that you almost forget how to speak.
“Yeah… ah, of course”
You step aside, letting him, and then just… stand there. Neither of you seems to know what to do next. God, Y/N — say something. Anything.
“So… you wrote me a few days ago” he finally says, but he doesn’t move — like he’s waiting for permission — like he’s afraid this might still be a mistake.
“Yeah… I heard… you know, about all everything. And I wanted to check if… if you’re okay.” Your voice is still soft, like you haven’t recovered from the shock of seeing him.
“I see” he says, and as he steps further into the room, the better lighting reveals just how exhausted he looks — like he hasn’t sleep in years. The dark circles under his crystal blue eyes seem almost bruised, his skin paler than you remember, stretched thin over exhaustion and stress.
“Well, I am very… watched right now. I could have answered you, but I can’t really meet with you anywhere outside — I’m constantly followed. By paparazzi, by people, by fans… and by enemies”
There’s a note of sadness in his voice, and you feel genuinely sorry for him. You can’t imagine a life where you can’t even visit your favorite places without being chased. Especially knowing how much he used to enjoy being outside alone — how he loved going to the park just to sit on a bench and smoke a cigarette.
“I was thinking about answering” he says slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor “but… I didn’t know what to say. I felt like messages were not enough. And honestly… out of all the people in the world, you were the only one I truly wanted to talk to.” His voice is weak, and you can see it in his face — it wasn’t easy to admit.
You look at him without saying a word. You don’t even know where to begin — you haven’t seen each other in years. Somehow, you never once crossed paths. Not on the street, not in a store, not on a party. What was there to say? Hello, how are you? What have you been doing these past three years while I was trying not to think about you?
You’re meeting at such a delicate moment — he’s probably more sensitive than usual, and you don’t want to overstep his boundaries.
“I…” you start, but you have no idea what to say. His sudden appearance caught you off guard. You don’t know how to act, how to talk to him, or what you could possibly do to make him feel better in this fucked up situation. A wave of self-consciousness washes over you. You start to regret sending that message. The awkwardness of this moment is almost too much to take.
You finally collect yourself, thinking — you were the one that reached out. You owe him something. A conversation at least, no matter how lost and uncomfortable you feel now.
“Come on. Sit down.” You say, gesturing toward the sofa. Suddenly, a flashback hits you — the countless times you made out there. You wonder if he’s thinking about it too.
Of course he’s not, you scold yourself. He has more important things to think about than where and how you used to have sex.
You bite the inside of your cheek. God, it shouldn’t be this awkward.
Or maybe it’s exactly as awkward as it should be — he’s your ex, after all.
“Do you want something to drink? Tea, water?” You open the fridge. You spot the bottle of wine on the door shelf and hesitate.
Not a good idea. God knows where a glass of wine might lead — and the last thing you need is to tempt the fate when the air is already thick with tension.
“Coca cola?”
“Just water is fine” he answers.
You pour him a glass of water. Then you set a kettle for tea — not because you particularly want tea, but because you need something to do. A few extra minutes to gather your thoughts.
Finally, you sit down next to him on the sofa. You keep a safe distance — not too close for him to think you want something to happen, but not too far to make it look awkward.
“So…” you say slowly, looking at him “Did you really… make a threatening move?” you don’t want to say hit — you don’t believe it, and you don’t want to offend him. But as soon as those words leave your mouth, you regret them.
“No!” He says sharply, almost shouting — clearly offended. So much for your attempt to be delicate “You know me… I’m not violent. I never have been.”
“I know, Joost.” You say softly.
Your hand twitches, instinctively wanting to reach for his thigh, to offer some comfort. But something stops you — hesitation, maybe fear. You’re afraid to touch him, as if that would make this moment too real. There’s an invisible barrier between you, and you’re not sure either of you is ready to cross it.
“What happened there?” You ask quietly.
You’re not sure if he came here to talk about it — or just for your company.
“Nothing…” he sighs, sadness unmistakable on his face — you really don’t like seeing him like that. “I don’t want to talk about it… Let’s just say, they didn’t respect the boundaries we agreed on beforehand. There was a lot of shit happening behind the scenes that no one saw. I don’t want to go back to that.” he says. “I worked on it for a very long time, and it was gone in minutes, you know? Just because I didn’t let someone disrespect me.”
“I’m so sorry.” You say with a sigh — and you truly mean it. You know he poured an incredible amount of work into preparing for that show — and then, the opportunity was stolen from him. “I’m sure you were working on that song for a long time. It’s amazing by the way.” You smile at him, and he returns it, though his smile is faint and there’s still sadness buried behind those beautiful eyes.
“Thank you. I knew you would like it.” He still smiles — now a little warmer. You can see a shadow of pride in his eyes — you know your opinion matters to him.
“I like the last part the most. You know how much I like the sensitive side of Joost.” You say, and he nods, chuckling. He knew what you meant — back when you were together, that part of him rarely surfaced.
He used to mask intense emotions with jokes and humor, often changing the subject. He always ran away when serious topics came up. But you really liked this new version of him — someone who’s open about his struggles, not afraid to shed a tear, and more willing to face difficult conversations.
“You’d like my last album then.” You can hear the hope in his voice. Like he’s been wishing, all this time, that you were still paying attention. That maybe, even from afar, you still cared.
And he’s not wrong — you listened to that album, and you liked it more than you ever expected. You remember sitting there at 2 a.m., headphones on, reading the English translations and realizing how many painful things he had been feeling — things he never told you about. You knew about some of his childhood struggles, but never fully grasped how deep they ran. He didn’t want to share them back then — and you didn’t know how to make him trust you enough to.
In moments like this, you wish you could go back in time — not to change everything, but to approach it all with more care. Give him more space to express how he felt. But you were only 21 when you started dating — still learning who you were, let alone how to help someone else feel safe with their own emotions. And deep down you know it was never just on you. He had to want to let you in.
“You’ve changed a lot since the last time we saw each other. At least… that’s what it seems. The Joost that I knew would never wear those jeans” you chuckle, trying to lighten the mood a little.
“Yeah.” He nods, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, and you feel proud that you made him laugh, even if just a little. “I’m no longer a Soundcloud rapper.”
You laugh, remembering the very first time you met — when he told you he was a musician and you guessed correctly, that he was a rapper influenced by the rap and trap scenes of the U.S., probably posting his music on SoundCloud. At that time he was already somewhat known, but it couldn’t compare to now. His career had taken a different direction, and you had to admit — you liked this new, sensible, more creative side of him.
“So…” he starts but your phone ringing cuts through silence.
You glance at the screen and see Kevin’s name. You quickly reject the call — you'll tell him later you were busy with your friends.
“Your boyfriend?” Jo asks. You catch something odd in his voice, like he had been waiting for a chance to ask — to find out if you were seeing someone.
“No” you answer, a little too quickly, feeling your cheeks grow warm. The way his eyes flick to yours — you know he noticed.
You’re not lying — not technically. You and Kevin haven’t defined anything. It’s still early, still casual, still in that “getting to know each other” phase. You’re not exclusive. You haven’t made promises.
But you’ve grown so close over the past few weeks that your answer feels like a lie— and a sting of guilt creeps in after you say it. You stare at your phone for a few seconds before finally looking up at Joost.
“So how have you been this whole time?” He asks, seeing how uncomfortable you are.
And from there, the conversation flows. You talk about everything — your job searching, all that’s happened lately, how you almost moved back to your home country but didn’t, how you’re learning Dutch. You even bring up your awkward attempts to reenter the dating scene — though you leave out the part about Kevin.
You respond with the same question — and you are genuinely curious about how he’s been, what his life has looked like over the past few years. And, if you’re honest, a part of you wants to know if he’s seeing someone.
He starts talking, and it feels like he’s been waiting a long time for this— a chance to open up to you about the things that truly matter: his art, his career, how he felt after the disqualification. You offer the occasional question, but mostly, you just watch him — studying his face, his voice, his words. He talks about therapy, about working through the pain of his past, especially the things that happened in childhood — and you admire the honesty in his voice.
“I’m glad so many things changed for the better for you. And that your friends are still always there for you.” You say with a smile, remembering the good times when you all used to go out together in that big group of friends.
“There’s something that didn’t change though.” You glance at him, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “My feelings for you.”
His voice is calm, but there’s a tremor beneath it — like he’s waited years to finally say it out loud.
A thick silence settles between you after those words leave his mouth — almost painful in it’s weight. You weren’t prepared for this. It’s been so many years, you never thought you’d even see him again, let alone hear him confess his feelings one more time.
But here he is, dropping it like a bomb.
Back then — that day on the stairs, when everything was unresolved — it made sense. But now? After all this time, when you were certain he had moved on, when you thought that chapter was closed for both of you… this feels unreal.
“Joost…” you say, finally. You look at him, but no words come.
He’s so close. Just one small movement and you could touch him — the warmth of his skin, the familiar shape of the face you once knew so well. A part of you wants to — to place your hand on his cheek, to offer him the comfort of your arms, or even to close the distance with long, tender kiss.
But that’s not your reality anymore.
Time has passed. You’ve both changed. You’ve both moved on — or at least you have. You made peace with your decision to move on. You reminded yourself, again and again, that there were reasons — real ones — to let go.
In this moment you realize it was a mistake to write him. Because no matter how many months, years — even decades — go by, the feelings between you won’t just vanish. He has a place in your heart that no one else can touch. You could date others, love others — but he was your first. The first love.
And as much as the past is supposed to stay behind you, it only takes the smallest spark to set those old feelings alight again.
“Don’t worry. I don’t expect anything from you.” He says with a pale smile. He may not expect anything — but it’s clear he was hoping for something. You suddenly want to hide under a blanket and not look at him for even a second longer. You regret reaching out. You regret sitting here.
Not because he was toxic, or bad for you — the wounds between you healed long ago.
But because the feelings you had for him were never completely gone. They were just buried deep in your mind, places you didn’t visit often. You never fully recovered from him. You moved on, yes. Accepted the ending, accepted that he wasn’t yours anymore. But your heart still dropped every time someone said his name — no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.
You had placed him in the past and planned to never see him again — not because you hated him, but because the feelings you two once shared were so strong, the relationship so intense, that you didn’t believe a neutral connection was possible. With him, it was always all or nothing. Love, or no contact. And now, painfully, you were realizing that again — you couldn’t just be his friend.
All the feelings you had put to sleep, the ones you promised yourself you’d never revisit, were slowly creeping back from the distant corner of your heart. The memories, the beautiful moments you thought were long gone — they were rising to the surface again, awakened by his simple confession: that his feelings never changed.
Because in this moment, you realize that your feelings haven’t changed either.
They were never truly gone — only suppressed. You made a conscious decision not to think about them, never look back. But just — what — an hour of talking to him? That was all it took to remind you how strong those feelings once were. And how frighteningly easy it would be for them to come rushing back.
“I think you should go, Joost” you say quietly, the words slipping out before you even have time to process them.
You know it’s the right thing. He can’t stay. This was a bad idea from the start. You have to forget that this has ever happened.
“It was very nice to see you again. And I’m really glad you’re getting better.”
You can hear the nervousness in your own voice, and you’re certain he hears it too.
“I’m really sorry about what happened to you at Eurovision.”
You want to offer him help, to tell him he can reach out anytime — but you stop yourself. That kind of closeness, that invitation, would only bring you back here again. And you’re already struggling to stop your old feelings from surfacing.
“Y/N…” he stands up slowly.
He doesn’t beg. He doesn’t try to change your mind. He just looks at you, and you wish you could disappear. “I’m sorry if what I said was inappropriate. I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s fine. Really.” You stand up too. “I just think the story we had is a closed chapter, and we shouldn’t reopen the old wounds.”
You don’t sound convincing — not even to yourself. You’re trying harder to convince you than him. “I’m really glad you came. I mean it.” You add, forcing a smile. And you do, but it doesn’t change the pain in your chest.
He’s looking at you, saying nothing — and you can’t help but wonder what’s going through his mind. That’s another change you notice in him. Back then, on the stairs, he tried to convince you with everything he had. He told you how much he loved you, how he had changed — he was desperate and emotional.
But now, he’s different. He’s quietly accepting whatever decision you make. No begging. No desperation.
“Okay”
You walk him to the door and open it.
“So…” he starts, voice uncertain — like he has one last thing to say, but isn’t sure if he should.
The awkward silence and tensionfill in the room as he searches for the right words for another goodbye. But nothing comes, he doesn’t know what to say, how to make this moment last just a little longer. And neither do you — you’re not even sure what you want. Do you want to go back to not speaking, keeping your distance? Or do you want to see him again — open that door in your mind, knowing full well it leads into a flood of memories you’re not sure you’re ready to face?
“Bye, Jo” you say softly.
He steps forward and wraps his arms around you. And just like that, the past wraps around you too.
That’s it. That’s your last straw. You bury your face in the soft fabric of his hoodie, and the scent — unmistakably his — crashes into you like a wave. Still the same, still his. It feels so good, after all this time, to be close to him again. His arms feel just as they did — safe, warm. Like your place in the world is still right there, between his chest and arms. You can’t help but reach for the back of his neck, and you feel his hands gently wrap around your back.
Oh, you’re in trouble. Big, big trouble.
You close your eyes and try to force yourself to leave the hug, but the emotions inside you explode like fireworks. One of his hands moves to your face, tucking your hair gently behind your ear, his thumb brushing softly across your cheek.
You know this is heading in the wrong direction. You should pull away. But you can’t. And worse — you don’t want to. You could stay here forever, wrapped in this soft, warm, safe embrace.
You look up at him, with wide, doe eyes, and for a second he looks down at you, studying your expression — his thumb still gently stroking your cheek.
Even though you were together for over two years, this feels like the most intimate moment that you’ve ever shared.
And then it happens.
He leans in, his lips brush yours, cautious at first, like asking permission. His hand moves from your cheek to your hair.
You don’t resist. You part your lips just slightly, letting him in, letting his tongue brush against yours. It’s not a hungry kiss. It’s slow. Delicate. Intimate.
But the kiss unlocks something — no, everything — inside your mind. It’s like every memory, every hurried feeling, every version of yourself that loved him, has come rushing back at once. The butterflies in your stomach are no longer fluttering — they’re soaring. It feels exactly like it used to… and somehow, even more intense.
He pulls back slowly, lips just an inch away. But you’re not done. You place your hand on the back of his neck again and pull him back in for another kiss — this time deeper, more passionate. You want more of him. You want more of that feeling — the one only he has ever been able to give you. You feel a desperate need to have him close, and it’s not even about sex. It’s about the intimacy, the familiarity, the closeness that your body and heart have been silently craving since he left.
“Y/N…” he whispers against your lips, a quiet reminder of the choice you made all those years ago. He wants you. That much is clear. But he doesn’t want you to regret it.
“I missed you so much” you say suddenly, surprising even yourself. “My feelings have never changed either.”
He reaches out his hand, and you take it without hesitation, letting him guide you back to the couch.
He pulls you gently onto his lap, and you wrap your arms around him like he might vanish if you don’t hold him tight enough. The sudden shift in energy leaves both of you in silence, unsure what the next move should be.
“What are we going to do with this?” He asks, his hand resting on your thigh, gently caressing it through the fabric of your pants. He’s trying to be gentle, to keep himself in check — even though you can feel the heat in his touch. He wants to take them off. And truthfully, you kind of want that too. You want to peel away all the years, you want to feel him against you, around you, inside you. But you both know that crossing that line will make everything even more complicated than it already is.
You look at him, unsure of what to say. In this moment, you feel like a child — lost and overwhelmed.
Even though you were the one who reached out first, the one who wanted to offer him support and understanding, now it’s him offering you the quiet comfort of his arms — and you know you shouldn’t accept it.
“I don’t know Joost… I think I need more time… I think…” you say, stumbling over your words. Your emotions caught you off guard, and you haven’t even had a moment to figure out what you really want. “I just… I don’t want to decide anything on impulse. Not again.”
He nods his head, but he doesn’t answer.
“Do you want me to stay?” He asks quietly. You know you told him to go — told yourself it was the right thing — but as the words echo in your mind they feel false.
“Yes. I think we should… we should catch up.” you say with a smile.
He smiles in return, and you slip off his lap to sit beside him. As you expected, he wraps an arm around your shoulders. And somehow, even the lightest graze of his fingers ignites something in you. Something tender, something dangerous. A spark that tells you nothing between you two ever really disappeared — it just went quiet.
You talk about everything — his life, how the pandemic affected both your mental healths, about the songs he wrote and the pain it helped him finally confront. He tells you about his upcoming tour, his plan to go to Eurovision again next year, this time with something even more honest.
You tell him about your life too, about learning Dutch. He teaches you some words and laughs at your pronunciation, so you smack him with a pillow in retaliation.
With every word he says, you feel how much he’s changed. How much more mature he is now, how he no longer avoids uncomfortable questions. Being with him feels so natural — like the past years never happened, like not a single day passed without you being by his side.
You finally get up from the couch to start preparing dinner for the both of you, and you send him to a nearby supermarket to buy a few things and something to drink.
The silence that follows is deafening. Without his voice, without his presence filling the room, your thoughts can’t stop flooding. And with them — that familiar sting of guilt. Kevin. He’s out there, halfway across the world, completely unaware that your ex who still holds a corner of your heart — is now in your apartment. Sitting on your couch. Laughing at your jokes. Making you feel things. And you don’t know what’s worse — the guilt, or the realization that you haven’t been fully honest with anyone. Not even yourself.
You know you owe Kevin the truth — at the very least, some honesty. And in fact, you shouldn’t even be engaging with Joost at all. But you couldn’t stop yourself. If years of distance, silence and heartbreak weren’t enough to erase him, then maybe nothing ever will. And maybe the real mistake wasn’t letting Joost back in. Maybe it was ever trying to build something with Kevin when your heart was never truly free.
Joost gets back to your apartment and places the groceries on the kitchen counter, before coming up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and resting his head on your shoulder. You can’t resist how cute, how gentle, how absolutely kind he is.
“You have to let me finish, otherwise we’ll be starving.” You say.
“We can just order something.”
“No, i do that way to often! Sit on the couch and let me handle this.” You smile over your shoulder.
He places a gentle kiss on your shoulder and goes back to the couch.
You’re adding ingredients to the pasta sauce, the warm scent starting to fill the kitchen. That’s when you hear it — the sound of a message notification. Before you can turn around and check, you see Joost already looking at the screen.
“Who is Kevin… with a heart?” Joost’s eyebrow rises.
Shit. You knew adding the heart next to Kevin’s name was too much, too soon. But you got so excited after the last date Kevin planned that you rushed that step.
“Uhm, it’s no one.” You answer — but you know that’s not true, and you can tell by Joost’s expression that he doesn’t buy it.
“Y/N, are you cheating on someone with me?” He’s voice isn’t angry — it’s confused. He knows you’re not the type to be unfaithful.
“We’re not doing anything.” You don’t turn around, stirring the pasta sauce much faster than necessary. Your voice is defensive, and your heart is full of guilt.
For a moment, he says nothing. But then you hear his voice again, and you could swear he sounds hurt by what he’s just discovered.
“We kissed. And that still doesn’t answer my question. You told me you don’t have anyone…” he says, his voice sharp with betrayal.
His words are not loud, not cruel, but heavy with accusation. He knows you lied.
“Because I don’t.”
You want to tell him that you don’t owe him an apology — but you do. You were the one who hid the fact that you’re actually seeing someone. You know he might have refused the kiss, the touch, even the conversation if he had known. And part of you knows you did it on purpose — because you were afraid of being rejected.
Even though Kevin wasn’t your boyfriend and you were still in the getting-to-know phase, Joost deserved the truth.
You take the sauce of the heat, before finally turning to face him.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
He doesn’t look angry — just confused, disappointed.
“He’s not my boyfriend though. We went out for a few dates. It was nice, I won’t lie — we had fun.” You paused, not looking away. “But… then you came here, and I wasn’t expecting that. I didn’t expect to feel everything again.” you take a small breath, your voice quieter now “I just… I’m so lost, I thought you were a closed chapter…”
“And what are you planning to do about that now?” He asks. There’s no anger in his voice — just a calm question. He’s looking for clarity, trying to understand where he stands. And you don’t blame him.
“I don’t know, Joost” you sigh.
You hadn’t expected this — to be put in a position where you’d need to find a resolution. But now that he’s asked, you have to face it. You owe him that much.
But how are you supposed to decide?
You only saw Joost a few hours ago, for the first time in years. You don’t even know where this is going — but there’s a strange peace inside you. Something about this time feels different than all the ones before. And you want to see where it leads.
You didn’t feel that familiar sense of anxiety — the fear that he couldn’t make any promises, or that he might disappear without a word. Somehow, this time, he’s saying all the right things, as if he’s finally grown into the promises he was never ready to make.
But at the same time, just the thought of that conversation you’ll have to have with Kevin breaks your heart — because how do you explain to someone that while he was away on a work trip, you met with your ex, and fell in love again?
But did you?
Did you fall in love again? Or did the old feelings just rise up, familiar and warm?
You’re not sure. But you know one thing: you want to give Joost a chance. You want to see where this could go.
“I’ll have to talk to him about this. He’s currently on a work trip, and I don’t think that it’s something that should be handled over the phone.”
Joost looks at you but doesn’t say anything.
It drives you crazy. You want to know what he’s thinking. You want to ask. But at the same time, just bringing up Kevin feels awkward enough. So you don’t.
“I just need time, Joost… You have to understand, we met after years apart. I want to collect my thoughts and decide what I really want.”
You almost add I want to see if you won’t leave, but you stop yourself — reopening old wounds wouldn’t help either of you now.
“I know. Don’t worry about it.” He says.
You give him a small smile, grateful for his understanding. But the thought of Kevin lingers, heavier then you’d like — like something you can’t shake off, no matter how much you want to stay in the moment.
You hand him his plate of spaghetti and grab the bottle of wine, pouring two glasses. You’ve already crossed boundaries, and selfishly, you just want Kevin and the guilt to leave your mind — at least tonight.
Joost seems to understand. He doesn’t press, doesn’t bring up Kevin again. Maybe he knows you’re not ready, maybe he doesn’t want to break whatever fragile thread is holding this connection together right now.
There’s a billion other things to talk about, so you both quietly agree to shift the conversation elsewhere. You bring up music, travel, old memories. He listens, laughs, teases you like he used to. For now, the past is behind you, and it almost feels like peace.
With next sips of wine, and Joost’s funny stories about recording the music video, Kevin fades from your mind, and your attention is fully back on Joost.
You’re standing at the kitchen counter, putting things back in their place, when you feel him place both hands on either side of your body, pinning you gently to the counter. His warm chest presses against your back. He brushes your hair aside, his fingertips grazing your skin, and places a soft kiss on your now-exposed neck.
You feel the tension rising between the two of you. You knew that the moment the alcohol hit your veins, the two of you would be all over each other. And maybe that was exactly what you were aiming for when you handed him that bottle of wine to open.
“Joost…” his name escapes your lips in a soft, needy whimper, as his hand reaches for your belly.
“Let’s go watch something, what do you think?” He says with a smile, gently stroking your arm. “We can just lie down, eat chips… and watch cartoons. If you want me to stay, of course.”
“I do.” You reply — a little too quickly. Kevin appears again in the back of your mind, but you can’t say no. You want more, you want to see how this unfolds.
You both head to the bedroom. You slip off the yoga pants, staying in just your underwear, and throw on an oversized t-shirt. You glance at him. You didn’t ask him to stay the night — but somehow, you always knew he would.
“Do you want something? A t-shirt?”
He nods, and you toss him one from the drawer. He undresses, and you can’t help but watch his nearly naked body, adorned with new tattoos. You want to ask about all of them — when and why he got them, if they mean something special, if he plans on getting more.
Then the regret hits you. You could have been there with him. All this time, you could have been together, if you hadn’t rejected him on those stairs all those years ago. If only you said yes then… maybe you would’ve grown together instead of apart.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, like he’s reading the thoughts right off your face.
“About your tattoos” you laugh.
He sits down on the bed and taps the spot next to him. He still fits here — like nothing ever changed. Like this was always his place, next to you.
He slides beneath the sheets, and you let yourself lie down beside him. Your head rests on his shoulder, your fingers lazily tracing the Lola Bunny tattoo.
“You like this one?”
You nod, and he pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you. For a few minutes, you’re both completely silent. You turn on a movie on Netflix, but neither of you really pays attention to what’s happening on the screen.
His fingers tangle gently in your hair, and you look at him — completely defenseless now. You’re not fighting it anymore.
“I love you, Y/N” he says, his face just inches away from yours. “I love you.”
You don’t answer. Instead, you bury your face in his arms. It seems more like a confession, his moment of vulnerability.
“There wasn’t a day during this whole process that I didn’t think about you. I wanted to share every minute we worked on this project, i wished you were there. I wanted to tell you everything. Every day.” You watch the feelings spill out of him. He was never like this — any kind of confession had always been hard for him.
“Joost…” you try to find the right words.
“I know you might not believe me” he says “but I really regret what I’ve done. I’ve been regretting it every single day.”
“I know, my baby. I know.” You say, pulling slightly away to look him in the eyes.
He’s finally saying the things that should have been said years ago — the words that might have saved you both from the heartbreak.
“I love you. I want everything with you. I promise, I will never leave you again. I won’t disappoint you like that ever again. I want to spend my whole life with you, and I never want to go a single day without talking to you” he says, looking straight into your eyes — no hesitation, no shyness. No looking away. No mumbling toward the floor.
“These years apart only made me realize how much I actually love you, how badly I fucked up, and how much you mean to me. You’ve always meant everything.” He doesn’t stop, and the intensity of his gaze almost makes you uncomfortable.
Here it is — all you ever wanted. Everything you thought you’d lost for good. And now it’s here again, standing before you, asking to be let back in. Maybe he was the definition of right person at the wrong time.
Maybe THIS is your time.
“I love you too, Joost.” You whisper, knowing it’s still true — even after all of these years. You see the regret in his eyes, the quiet desperation in the way he looks at you, trying to show you that this time, it will be different.
And for the first time, you truly believe it. Maybe you’re being foolish. Maybe you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak all over again. But in this moment, it feels right.
He gently lifts your chin, closing the last bit of the distance between you with a kiss. You help him pull off your t-shirt. He pauses fo a second, but his lips don’t wander to your neck or your chest. It doesn’t feel rushed or lustful. It feels like he’s peeling away your fears, your insecurities — like he’s asking to be let back in. And you’re letting him. With every touch, he’s making another silent promise.
And you let him. You let his fingers slowly remove your underwear, let him touch you wherever he pleases. You let him continue.
You give your body to him in the most intimate way.
It’s not about trying new positions, or making you beg, or even making you scream. It’s a silent promise he’s giving you. He touches you with an intimacy deeper than anything you’ve known. When he slides into you, his movements are slow, and deliberate, as if he wants it to last forever, to stay inside you as long as he can.
He doesn’t break eye contact, not even for a second. He keeps whispering how much he loves you, how important you are to him, while one finger strokes your cheek. You look at him with your eyes wide, not just from the physical sensation, but from the wave of emotion that has bloomed all over again.
You believe him — all those promises, all those feelings seem so real now, he’s closer than he’s ever been. He’s inside you in every sense of that word— not just physically, but deep within you, in every cell, every thought, every beat of your heart.
His body is warm and bare against yours. His breath mingles with yours, his words slipping directly into your mouth between kisses. Your fingers knot in his hair as he brings you over the edge — not with urgency, but with something deeper. It’s the most intimate sex you’ve ever had — not because of the way he moves, but because of the way he means it. He keeps kissing you, as if he never wants to stop, as if he could live in this moment forever. And he believes — truly believes — that this time, it will be forever.
You love the sensation of him filling you, of him making your body cry out in pleasure. But you’d give all of that up for this— when he makes you feel seen, important, safe and certain of his love.
You stay in bed the entire evening, It’s late into the night, but you’re far from tired of each other. You talk about your plans — where you’ll go together, how you’ll spend the next few months. The future doesn’t feel distant anymore. It feels real.
“I always knew you were mine” you whisper into the dark room, your head resting on his chest. “Somehow… I just knew. I think I was always waiting. I knew you would come back.”
“I wanted to come back every single day. Since the day we say goodbye. Look.”
He reaches for his phone resting on the nightstand. He opens the Notes app, and scrolls to one of them.
“I wrote to you every day. I just didn’t send it.” He says, handing you the phone.
You scroll through the screen, stunned — hundreds of unsent messages. Some are just a line or two. Others are long, flowing paragraphs filled with ideas, memories, feelings. There are messages where he vents — frustrated or sad. Others where he’s happy, excited, inspired. Some are just little jokes he thought you’d laugh at, or moments he noticed something and thought of you. It’s like reading the life you could have shared. The version of you that existed in his heart, even when you weren’t there. “Every trip I went on, I brought you a present” he adds quietly “They’re all at my place… waiting for you.”
“Joost, this is…” you shake your head, overwhelmed.
It would feel like too much — if it was anyone else. But with him, it makes sense. You always knew he carried oceans of feelings, hidden just beneath the surface. And now, it feels like it’s all spilling out of him.
“I was just… waiting for a sign from you, you know? If you’d never written to me again, I would’ve accept it. But God, I hoped you would. And I was starting to lose that hope.”
“I’m glad… I did.” you say.
“I’m glad too.”
And then, without another word, the tears come.
“Hey… I’m sorry… Is this too much?” He asks gently.
“No” you shake your head. “ It’s just… everything I’ve ever wanted. And I don’t know what to do with it.”
He closes the distance between you in a tight hug. You melt into him, letting yourself be held, your body begins to relax. You’re not sure if it’s happiness, excitement, surprise — or some tangled cocktail of it all — but whatever it is, it’s overwhelming in the best kind of way.
Whatever it is, you’re taking it with open arms — and you’re not planning to let it go. Not ever again.
He’s drifting to sleep beside you, while you lie awake, gently tracing circles on his chest. You’re afraid to close your eyes. What if this is just a dream? What if, by morning, it’s all gone and you’re back to your regular life?
But it’s not.
You blink your eyes open… and he’s still there.
It’s hard to explain to your friends why you forgave him. Why the years of silence and the way he hurt you aren’t dealbreakers anymore.
It’s hard to look Kevin in the eye and tell him you can’t see him again — not because he did anything wrong, but because your heart was never truly his.
It’s hard to face the disappointed looks, the hushed “Are you sure?” Talks, the pity disguised as concern.
But at the same time, it’s not hard at all. It feels like the easiest decision you’ve ever made. You’ve never been so sure about anything in your life.
The next day, you wake up — and he’s here.
And the day after that.
And the day after that.
He doesn’t disappear anymore. He’s always there — to give you a kiss when you wake up, or to leave you a note saying that he had to go to the studio. Before you even realize it, your toothbrush is in his bathroom, and his underwear is in one of your drawers. Before you even notice, you’re talking about the future.
And the dreams you once had — of spending your whole life with him — no longer feel like fragile fantasies. You don’t feel guilty for having them anymore. Or scared. They’re not just your dreams now — they’re your future. And for the first time, you’re allowed to believe in it.
He doesn’t run anymore. The fear of losing you again won’t let him. Even in the moments when he’s feeling low, he no longer shuts you out. He lets you in, lets you support him, and talk things through. The months pass, and somehow, you’ve never been closer.
And you’re so, so grateful for the day you allowed yourself to reach out. If you hadn’t… maybe you wouldn’t be here now, lying next to him a year later, listening to the news about this year’s Eurovision Song Contest.
“You know, this contest is fucked up.” he says, his fingers gently stroking the skin on your arm. “It took away my dream, but it also brought another dream back.”
You smile at his words. They’re true.
And you’re grateful, more than anything, to be the one who helped him through it. The one he stayed for.
You watched him heal from the situation at the contest.
You watched him make it better through music.
You watched the peak of his career bring him both joy and fear.
But most of all, you watched him grow — getting better, day by day.
And you?
You’ve never been this happy. Not just because he came back, but because you both chose to stay.
warning: heavy alcohol consumption, smoking, mention of cocaine use, distressing sex, emotional dependency, breakup, toxic situationship, smut, car sex, oral!fem receiving, spit, fluff, a lot of angst, riding dick, insults, cursing.
description: the toxic relationship of the two takes a turn, or a fake turn, after y/n has a night out at a club. Will this be the beginning of everything? doubts are many and the only way to deal with them is not communication but sex, just sex.
author’s note: I really struggled to give birth to this first part 😮💨😮💨 but I made it, and I hope you like it!! My idea this time is to write a long fanfiction (going back to the me from five years ago), I have so many ideas spinning in my head, please be patient, I’ll write them all little by little.
That said, i’ll leave you to the read! Let me know what you think!! pleaseeee! And just a reminder, requests are always open: if you want to share your ideas, even related to this fanfic, just write them down!
big kisses!
(sorry if there are grammatical errors, I tried my best, English is not my first language!!!🙏)
part.1
——————————————————————
I didn’t know what time it was. I didn’t know how many hours I had slept. If I had rested enough after the physical effort that had lasted late into the night.
My body responded before my mind could fully grasp the situation around me. I opened my eyes, heavy with exhaustion, and every physical sensation struck my nerves with full force. A familiar soreness bloomed in my lower belly and the muscles of my bare back tensed, suppressing a stretch that would’ve been too satisfying for the tired particles of my being.
Curled up in the crumpled, pathetic sheet on my unmade bed, my ears picked up - beneath all the layers of confusion - the sound of a belt clinking and jeans fabric sliding up the legs of the guy who, just the night before, had made me scream his name within those very walls.
“Are you leaving?” The weak, sleepy tone left my throat, and instinctively my body turned toward the source of the sound - to see if he was really leaving. To see with my own eyes if once again, he was abandoning me alone in the darkness of my room. In the cold emptiness of my soul.
My arms slipped out from under the sheet, but since I was naked, I’d made sure to stay covered up to my chest, breasts included.
“Yes.” His voice was hard, cold, detached. It snapped me out of my drowsiness. The emptiness that had been filled just moments before by his physical presence came rushing back: stronger, heavier, more overwhelming.
I watched him as I reached my right hand toward the empty spot beside me that still held the warmth of his body. His movements were brisk as he zipped up and buttoned his jeans. He had his back to me, so I could only focus on the pale, freckled skin of his body. His hair was tousled - light blond strands sticking out rebelliously, hinting at how recently he’d gotten up. Just moments before me.
He had decided so quickly to leave. So quickly to walk away.
I was used to it. He would text me, come to my place, fuck me, sleep for two hours in my bed, and leave.
It had been almost a year. Since the day we decided to end our relationship. When we still didn’t know that the end of our relationship would be the beginning of something far worse, something agonizing and bloody.
The start of a complicated entanglement. The start of an endless back and forth between two strangers who knew each other better than anyone else ever could.
How do you stop being addicted to something, if that something is the only moment you feel alive?
I didn’t know. I didn’t know, because at that point in my life, I was immersed in something murky and toxic, but highly addictive.
He made my heart race. He made me feel alive. Truly alive.
He bent down quickly to pick up his t-shirt and then his hoodie, which he pulled on after adjusting it. My eyes never left him, though they never met his gaze. My breathing was steady, but it didn’t match the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat pounding inside my chest.
I saw him pat his pockets to make sure he still had his keys - including the spare to my apartment, which he’d had for about two years.
I hadn’t asked for them back after the breakup - “Just in case” I told myself - Just in case something happened, it made sense for him to still have them. Or at least that’s how I justified it. Asking for them back would’ve meant cutting the umbilical cord of our toxic comfort.
I also saw him pull out his crumpled pack of cigarettes, and in the back of my mind, the thought surfaced: I need to buy more. I’d smoked the last one just a few hours before.
“Can you leave me one?” I kept looking at him, trying to see if my words actually reached him. Lazily, I curled to the other side, resting my hands beneath the pillow and my face softly against it - turned toward him. Toward his back. Toward his presence.
“I need to go buy more later, so… if you’d be so kind..” I added, lowering my voice a little, as if I needed to sweeten the request. As if I had to apologize. As if I were begging for that cigarette. He didn’t answer. He didn’t turn around. But he pulled out two cigarettes from the pack before stuffing it back into his jeans, and left them on the nightstand between a two day old dirty espresso cup and a crumpled blue condom wrapper.
My eyes slid to the nightstand and I sighed softly, almost as if I were witnessing a blessing. Restless, I turned onto my stomach and buried my face into the pillow’s softness, letting my sight rest and muffling my breathing.
If only I had the courage. If only I had the right courage to let Joost go, maybe my chest wouldn’t be weighed down with constant guilt.
I heard his footsteps fade, then the jingle of keys, the front door opening and closing. I didn’t hear the lock click, and that annoyed me.
Did I really have to remind him every single time to lock the damn door? Did he care that little?
He wasn’t like that a year ago.
Not when he was my boyfriend.
Back then, he remembered everything about me, everything he was supposed to do and not do. He remembered my class schedule, my likes and dislikes. He really remembered me.
And it broke my heart every time I realized how much he had changed. It hurt more every time he asked me the same questions just days apart.
“Do you have class until Friday?” When just the week before, he’d asked me that exact same thing.
Sometimes I’d scroll through my photo gallery; you know, when you start from the recent photos and somehow end up in the archives from past years. Every single time, I ended up crying.
Only God knows how many photos I had saved of him.
How many stolen moments.
How many silly faces I’d captured.
How many loving expressions I had frozen in time.
There was one video in particular that I could never delete, not for anything in the world; Joost, his face buried in my neck, mumbling sweet, disgustingly romantic words at 6 PM on a random Saturday.
“You’re my baby” his rough, raspy, yet tender voice played from my phone speakers as the screen showed what the camera had caught: half of my smiling, tired face, and half his bare shoulder and messy blond curls soaking up my affection.
“Sorry, what was that?” I pretended not to hear - just to enjoy his voice again.
“You’re my baby… my one and only baby. The only girl I’ll ever love… got it?” His slurred words were cut off by my soft laughter, triggered by the tickle of his lips on my sensitive skin.
“Got it?” he repeated, voice softer now, like he needed reassurance, while he lifted his head just enough to kiss along my jaw. As if he had to convince me. I hid my phone, afraid of being caught and ruining his melted sugar moment. At that point, the video zoomed too close on his skin, so all I had left was the sound of that conversation.
“Yes, I got it” I heard myself say, followed by: “If we ever break up - which we won’t - I promise I’ll never leave you alone. You’ll always have me hanging around, always with you…”
“I love you more than life itself. Without you, I wouldn’t be here.”
Then the screen went black, and the video ended, as his hands had traveled across my hips - grabbing, caressing, gripping every inch of my skin. A journey my nerves still remembered far too well.
And that was it. With that sentence echoing in my head from the day we broke up.
The reason for the breakup? Too many fights, too much jealousy, too many obligations, too little time for us, not enough sex, not enough attention, not enough love.
But was it really about love? Was it really about feelings?
Did I still love him?
Why did I need to sleep with him?
Why did I crave his touch so badly if I could feel the hatred growing in my chest?
We had broken up after three years. I thought I had found the love of my life; the perfect guy who had started talking to me after I asked him for a lighter outside a bar, and who had easily won me over with a few jokes and that undeniable charisma. But where had I ended up? In a pool of mud that kept dragging me deeper. And the worst part? That mud had no bottom. And I was drowning, paralyzed.
I had university. He had his job, his music, his world. Every excuse was a reason to fight. Every moment was an excuse to postpone things. Every caress was too shallow to cut through our knots. So we decided to end it, after yet another brutal fight. Always blaming. Always dodging responsibility.
We went through a dead period: no contact, no texts, no calls. We didn’t even greet each other in the street. I remembered it clearly: he stopped his car at a crosswalk and let me pass without even really looking at me. Without even daring to raise that guilty hand to wave. I crossed the street with a part of me wishing to be hit by a car in the next lane. The embarrassment burned like hell, and his gaze stuck to me longer than he’d actually looked.
Then he reached out a month later. A cold January night - it must’ve been a Wednesday or Thursday. Late.
“How are you? Want to meet?”
No need to say it - half an hour later, I was bouncing on his cock in his shitty car, parked in the empty lot of the fast food joint near my place. He had been drinking. His mouth tasted of alcohol, probably beer, from the bitter aftertaste. His tongue was slick. So were his hands: they were squeezing my ass with a confidence that reflected exactly the level of intoxication he had reached.
Half lidded eyes, flushed cheeks, sweat on his brow and neck… he was clearly drunk.
My hands buried in his hair, just like in that video from my gallery. But this time the touches weren’t gentle; they were desperate, hungry. I pulled hard, just to hear his guttural moan echo against the fogged windows. Just to watch his tongue wet his dry lips and feel his fingers buried in my flesh.
We were a disaster.
Exes who didn’t know how to be exes.
Exes who were fucking in the middle of an empty parking lot, swapping spit and fluids like it was a normal routine.
“I needed you.” His voice trembled, adding another layer to the mess of his face looking up at me.
I rode him harder, his tip hitting deeper. Shivers tore through my body as our mouths met again; I tasted him, devoured him, held him in place while his hands gripped my cold thighs.
I was wearing only a bra, one strap falling. My clothes were tossed beside the backseat where we’d settled. His jeans and boxers were down; his t-shirt still on.
The desire, the craving, the attraction - it was all too explosive to give us time for anything else. He entered me after just a few kisses. No prep. No foreplay. He was fucking me like it was the only purpose in his life.
But it wasn’t like before. There were no emotions left, just primal need.
A confirmation of what we were doing, and with whom. It was just physical.
When he came, he didn’t kiss me like he used to. He clung to my body, our breaths fogging the already dirty windows. He hid his face against my chest, as if ashamed.
And maybe he should’ve been.
But in that moment, I held him close anyway.
I searched for his warmth.
“And I wish I were a computer, so I could reformat myself, uninstall our love.
Just to be able to forget:
How it felt to love;
What your dog’s name was;
What you liked to eat;
Where we went to the beach;
Your car and its color;
Your face and your name - I wish I could forget you”
I couldn’t forget him. Couldn’t forget that it had been a whole week since he’d reached out. That he was leaving me in total insomnia, total emptiness, tears, lack of focus during lessons, during nights out with my friends.
Right then, I was staring at the fifth drink the bartender had placed in front of me at the club I’d been dragged to on that hollow Saturday night. My vision was blurred just enough to realize how drunk I really was, and my hearing was muffled - every bit of low quality music blasting from the speakers blending together with my tangled thoughts.
My body was there, standing on heels that had become uncomfortable after three hours of dancing, drinking and smoking out back in that filthy place I would’ve never set foot in again if I’d been in my right mind.
I felt the night’s humidity clinging to the bare skin of my legs and arms, covered only by a black jacket since I was wearing a tight tank top and loose faux leather shorts that stopped mid-thigh. They were comfortable.
-I’d definitely wear them again-
That was one of the few thoughts I could clearly recognize in my mind, as my hand wrapped around the glass and brought it to my lips, smeared with lipstick for the night. I let the bitter liquid slide down my throat.
It was strong. But not strong enough.
My face twisted into a grimace of near disgust as I set the half empty glass back down on the polished wooden bar. I sighed and turned toward the main room, still packed with people.
I didn’t recognize a single one. My eyelids were getting heavier and my hand clutched the phone I had in my pocket.
I looked down, squinting to read the time.
2:04 a.m.
God, it was so late. And I was so drunk.
-Should I call Joost?-
-How am I getting home?-
I could’ve easily gone home with someone from the group. But the truth was that I wanted to see him. I missed him. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to be with him, even if it meant ending up in a fight, mediocre sex, or just minutes filled with silence.
My body was trembling. My heart was pounding. Any trace of sobriety had completely abandoned my system as I opened my contacts and started scrolling with my thumb to find the number saved under “Joost Klein (do NOT answer)”
I wasn’t going to answer, because I was going to call.
But the urge to pee stopped me just before I could hit the call icon. I figured it might be smarter to call him and wait outside on the sidewalk, so he wouldn’t waste time.
It was better to leave that place immediately.
With a walk that tried its best to look stable, I headed to the bathroom. I mumbled half hearted apologies to everyone I bumped into, pulling my shoulders in tight as I crossed the threshold of that tiny, stinking room lit by led lights cranked to full brightness - so harsh it made you feel like you’d stepped out of reality for a moment.
In that bathroom, that night, I didn’t just take a piss.
In that bathroom, that night, besides doing my business, sitting on that grimy toilet where I found the only time to rest my battered heels - I did a line of coke. A long, thin line of cocaine.
I didn’t know why I did it, what pushed me. Maybe it was how slow my mind was working. Maybe it was the encouraging words of that guy from my group. Maybe it was just the desire to disconnect and simultaneously reconnect to this planet in some warped, intense way.
The burning in my nose lasted only a moment, far too brief compared to what came next.
I felt tingling across my whole body, I laughed out loud without knowing why, maybe just to release the tension. My hands shook at first, my legs went light, my senses dialed up to a thousand.
I wasn’t me.
I wasn’t alive.
I didn’t feel present or real but at the same time, I was hyper-aware.
My heart was in my throat, I could almost feel the blood cells pushing through every vein in my body. And yet, even with all that stimulation…
My thoughts kept circling back to him.
Always him.
I spent half an hour in the bathroom, talking to a girl I didn’t even know, she’d done coke too, ten minutes before me. We sat on the floor, laughing, chatting. I had no idea what her name was, but I told her about Joost.
Not in a sweet way. Not nostalgic.
No, I trashed him. I let it all out through insults and loud, careless laughter.
Everything he had made me feel just moments earlier? It felt like it was all behind me. Like I was past it. Like it was gone.
Seemed gone.
Because the coke only lasted thirty minutes. I hadn’t done much - less than the others - and when the comedown hit, it hit hard.
From the filthy, damp bathroom floor, I somehow ended up sitting on the edge of the curb outside, wrapped in my black jacket, a lit cigarette between my lips, mascara streaked tears dried on my pale cheeks. My hair was puffed up from the humidity. My hands were trembling. And my mind was a wreck.
A mind wrecked by guilt.
Because in the end, I had called him. I’d called him while I was still locked in that messy bathroom.
“I’d fuck him right now, honestly.” I’d laughed as the drug still buzzed in my blood and made me feel every single atom in my body.
“Then call him. You said you don’t care about him anymore, just fuck him, for fun”. the girl beside me had suggested casually, small and high as hell, not just on coke.
God knows what we’d actually been talking about all that time.
I grabbed my phone from my pocket for the hundredth time. This time, I bit down hard on my lower lip and started scrolling through my contacts again. But now, the reckless high didn’t stop me.
I tapped the call icon on “Joost Klein (do NOT answer)”
The dial tones warmed my chest, my heart, and the anticipation died in my throat so much faster than it had the previous times.
“Hello?” His slurred voice told me he was probably asleep, that I had just woken him in the middle of the night. There was no lump in my throat this time.
“Yeah… hi Joost- I… uh, can you come get me? Can you come? I’m at the usual club, almost the only one in this city” I paused just to giggle, my hand starting to play absentmindedly with the belt loop on my shorts, purely decorative.
“uhm, Red Pills… the club-”
“I’m not home.” Joost’s sharp tone left no room for my now fading sexual fantasies, my mind fully caught on one specific thought. Was he with someone else?
“Please, Joost” my voice was overly dramatic, the adrenaline in my system was pumping more blood and clashing against the slow buzz of the alcohol.
“If you went there, you went with someone. Have them take you home, y/n. I can’t come get you now.” His sharp tone had softened, but I could still hear a distinct edge: annoyance, unrest. The words left my mouth before my mind could catch up with the flood of signals it was receiving.
“Oh, you can’t, huh? You can’t because you’re fucking someone else?” Blood rushed to my head, my knuckles turned white from the tension and a wave of suffocating pressure wiped out everything around me.
I had no proof, no real certainty that he was with someone else. Maybe it was just a pretext, a scream meant to release everything I had bottled up. I’d always suspected he’d been seeing other girls those past months - it would’ve been ridiculous to think otherwise.
“Tell me the truth! You’re just a piece of shit, aren’t you? Or are you really gonna say you’re only fucking me? Are you gonna lie to me like that?” I could only think about him with another person. I’d never asked him outright - it would’ve made no sense to, since we weren’t even together anymore.
“I’m not saying anything, why are you-“ I didn’t let him speak. I didn’t care. I didn’t even register the almost worried tone in his voice.
“You’re not saying anything because you can’t! Because you’ve always had me on my knees, in front of you, because…” I felt the tears begin to sting, the weight of my body returning with force, heavier, more real.
“y/n, I’m coming.” I heard him speak after moments where all I did was sob with my back against the wall, my legs limp and sprawled out.
“N-no… don’t come. I don’t want you, asshole.”
I was exhausted and it showed - my back hunched, my gaze lost in the cold, shiny asphalt, where cars passed by, some fast, some slow. My ears picked up one that was slowing down more and more, eventually pulling over right in front of the crooked sign of the club. I glanced at the license plate, then at the dashboard.
It was him. He really came.
But I didn’t want him to see me like that, so vulnerable. I felt as if I were naked, out in the sun, burned.
When I saw him get out of the car, I stood up, not to run toward him, but to turn in the opposite direction and start walking, feeling the familiar pain in my feet. I took the last two drags of my cigarette before throwing it to the ground, wiping my cold cheeks with both hands. As if that could change anything.
“y/n!” I heard him call my name, and I could hear his steps ticking on the sidewalk, quicker than mine, more urgent. I took a deep breath and hunched my shoulders. The lump in my throat, the trembling, the dryness in my mouth, they all returned instantly.
“Will you stop?” His voice hit my conscience like a dart, and his grip on my forearm was strong enough to make me flinch and turn toward him. I saw his eyes scan mine, then drop to my body, never letting go of my arm as if afraid I might run.
“Why did you come?” My trembling voice betrayed the scowl I tried to maintain, the hardness in my gaze. It didn’t take much to make me melt into him.
“What the hell did you do to yourself?” he said, ignoring my question, his stare locked onto mine before something in him snapped. He let go of my arm only to take my face in his hands. I tried to pull away, lowering my head out of shame.
“y/n… look at me” He whispered, and I could feel him trembling. He didn’t give up, he slid his hand under my chin, trying to lift it.
I didn’t even have the strength to resist anymore. I was exactly where I wanted to be. A tear rolled down my cheek as I brought my hand to his to push it away. I lifted my head but didn’t look him in the eyes. I focused on his hoodie, on his jeans, on his shoes, on his familiar image.
“Your pupils are huge…” He said, holding his breath as he insisted. He cupped my face again and made me raise it fully. The warmth of his hands was enough to make me surrender.
I met his worried gaze and couldn’t hold anything back: I broke down. My face twisted in pain and my weak hands landed on his chest.
“What the fuck did you do? Are you stupid?” That aggressive edge in his voice revealed all the worry he carried. He brought his lips to my forehead and kissed it before pulling me into a hug.
There, in the middle of the sidewalk, just the two of us, we hugged.
I sobbed into his shoulder, his arms wrapped tightly around me, his face pressed against my hair. He was soft, gentle, he let me cry, let me pour everything out, let me mumble all the excuses and insults - I was wrapped in him.
For the first time in months, I could feel it, he was really afraid of losing me.
It was clear in his eyes, in everything he did.
“You asshole… you’re the one who made me like this, every time you-“ I couldn’t even finish the sentence again, muffled by the fabric of his hoodie.
A blade in my throat silenced me. My hands gripped his back tightly, all of my weight against him while he kept repeating: “Shhh… it’s okay” With that deep tone of his, with that honeyed voice.
I spat out all my frustrations at him, but none of it changed how the night ended.
I was in his bed, wearing his clothes, surrounded by his scent, my head resting on his pillow. My tired, lazy gaze was fixed on his profile; his perfect nose, his parted lips, his closed eyes.
A sense of apparent serenity washed over me just knowing I was next to him. Next to that man who, in some way, I felt belonged to me but at the same time had nothing to do with me.
A shiver ran down my spine when he opened his eyes and immediately locked them onto mine, as if he already knew I was staring.
He didn’t say a word, just slowly moved toward me, turned onto his side and grabbed my face with his hand, pressing his lips against mine. I held my breath, feeling his become heavier with each minute we spent kissing.
It was slow, romantic, heartbreakingly sweet. He moved his tongue against mine, then pushed himself up slightly with his arm, laying me down flat against the mattress. He moaned against my lips and pulled back just enough so he could look into my eyes.
His cheeks were flushed, lips glistening, messy hair hanging over his forehead, and those blue eyes still on me, still checking that I was okay.
“What are you doing?” I muttered, my hands resting on his shoulders as the sigh he let out said more than a thousand words. He lowered himself again and gently kissed my lips before moving to my neck. I closed my eyes and arched my back as his hands slid into the boxers he had lent me just minutes earlier. I bit my bottom lip and let out a heartfelt moan as his middle finger circled my clit, then spread my lips with his index and ring fingers, finally slipping the middle one inside me.
“Joost… god-“ I whispered, moving my hips slowly against his hand as his teeth purposefully bit a patch of skin.
What did it mean? Why was he giving me so much pleasure now?
“You make me worry way too often” he murmured in his deep voice near my ear, then caught my earlobe with his lips before placing a kiss behind it. I mumbled some apologies as his ring finger joined the middle one, pressing against just the right spot before sliding in and out.
He was so damn slow, and I was getting so wet.
After just a moment, he took off my boxers, lifted my thighs effortlessly, and settled right there between them. He started eating me out with a different kind of hunger; his lips first trailed kisses, licks, and soft bites along the insides of my thighs.
“Please… please…” What was I even begging for? He was licking my dripping core, sucking my clit, pumping his fingers in and out of me and after a few minutes, he spread me open and spit onto my entrance, holding eye contact as he pushed his tongue inside me. I was a bundle of raw nerves, the knot in my lower stomach tightening with every passing second.
I felt his tongue working, heard the obscene sounds coming from his mouth.
“Please…”
I was begging him to love me again, to want me the way he used to, to look at me the way he always had. I was begging him not to stop eating me out. I wanted to keep feeling his mustache rubbing against my wet folds, his tongue shifting from inside me to circling my sensitive bud, his fingers buried in me, sometimes moving to grab and squeeze my skin.
My right hand tightened in his hair, and my feet pressed against his back, my silent plea for him not to stop.
“Fuck… fuck.. it’s been so long since you did this” slipped from my lips along with high pitched moans. He kept going. He didn’t stop. Not even when I came around his tongue, not even when I screamed his name. Not even when his jaw must have begged him to quit.
“I love you… I love you so much” I said naturally, contorting on the sheets, trying my best to avoid a cramp in my tense calves.
I didn’t have the courage to look at him. Embarrassment flushed my cheeks and his mouth slowed its pace. The tears streamed down again without warning, adding even more redness and swelling to my already flustered face. I covered my face with my hands, releasing his hair and trying to stifle the sobs that nearly drowned out the moans and the heavy breaths of pleasure.
That’s when he stopped, probably because the weight of my words hit him square in the mind. He pulled away from my entrance with a kiss, a soft pop.
“Why are you hiding from me?” His voice grounded me in reality. He grabbed my wrists and gently uncovered my tear-stained face.
I looked him in the eyes, and for the first time in a long while, I saw his emotions clearly. I saw the tenderness that had always defined him.
“Because I want to start trusting you again… truly” Those words came out more like a sigh, and his swollen, honeyed lips caught them as he leaned in to kiss and reassure me.
“I love you too, you know that” He said against my cheek, pulling back just enough to look into the most vulnerable part of my soul. His eyes mirrored mine, because I wasn’t the only one poisoned by this, he was in it too.
What we were now was the product of all the toxicity from these past months.
☆ summary: all his ways always lead to you. especially drunk ones.
☆ warnings: rpf, angst, cursing, smoking, mentions of drinking, slight violence?, some fluff at the end
☆ wc: 3.4 k
☆ a/n: omg i haven't written anything in such a long time. missed u babes xx. if my brain comes up with something, there is gonna be a part two. mwah
that night was exceptionally warm. you sat on the balcony of your small apartment in Amsterdam, looking at the dark sky full of stars. it seemed to try to soothe you with its own calmness. everything around you seemed to be silent, even the city, usually full of sounds, became quiet, as if it knew that your usually thought-filled head, needed this.
you reflected on how much your life had changed over the past months. it was a lot. at moments like these, your thoughts wandered back to him again. inside you, despite the passing weeks, there was still a silent struggle - longing clashed with anger, memories clashed with attempts to forget.
your heart refused to let go, even though reason had long since departed and even though you knew, that leaving it all behind was the best option at the time, something inside you still clung to that one moment when everything seemed possible.
that particular, almost unreal moment, when his eyes looked at you as if you were everything.
and you believed then that it was enough.
it wasn’t.
the cigarette in your mouth smoldered slowly, unevenly, as if it was not sure if it wanted to burn to the end. the smoke irritated your throat, but you did not care - it was the only thing that gave you any solace that night. the cold mixed with the smell of your shampoo, creating a strange, familiar aura. you closed your eyes, but not to fall asleep. rather to disappear, at least for a moment - from memories, from him, from yourself.
during these passing weeks, you felt good. maybe not happy, but peaceful. stable. life was slowly moving forward, day by day, and you regained yourself anew with each morning.
you learned to drink coffee without his presence. sleep on your side of the bed without waiting for him to come back. you stopped checking your phone. even his name stopped hurting like before.
but still, somewhere inside, an uncertainty smoldered. quiet, barely perceptible, but persistent. as if all this was just the silence before the storm. as if something was about to happen - something that would disturb your peace again, shake your heart and remind you that no end is final until you really stop feeling.
and you still felt. too much.
suddenly, you were snapped out of your lethargy by the sound of the doorbell. slightly alarmed, you hastily put out the rest of your cigarette against the metal edge of the ashtray and entered the apartment, carefully heading toward the front door.
you weren’t expecting anyone at this hour. three o'clock in the morning is definitely not the time for a normal visit. besides, in this city, in this solitude, any unexpected visit had the right to cause anxiety.
walking slowly, a million different scenarios began to appear in your head: what if it's some thief? maybe some mistake? or maybe the neighbor needs something?
your heart sped up and your hand involuntarily hovered over the doorknob, afraid to touch it. you turned the lock on the door and carefully began to swing it open, feeling the tension move down your spine like a cool shiver.
then something else crossed your mind - a thought so absurd and irrational that you held your breath for a moment.
what if it's him?
your heart was beating too loudly.
the door opened all the way.
and then you saw him.
Joost stood in front of you in all his glory, wobbling slightly on his feet and propping himself up against the front door frame. his bloodshot eyes revealed the amount of alcohol he had consumed, yet he looked as good as always.
too shocked to say anything, you stood there, holding onto the door frame as if you were about to fall. his gaze lifted from the floor and slowly moved over your body until finally stopping on your face. for a moment, he said nothing; he just looked, trying to read you again, as if wanting to see if you were still the same person he left behind.
„what- what the hell are you doing here?” you asked in a hushed voice that somehow escaped your clenched throat.
„may I come in?” he began, rambling slightly, using the same voice that used to calm you down.
„answer my damn question, Joost,” you said, trying to keep your nerves in check, although you felt something inside you begin to crack.
the man looked at you again with hazy eyes that could no longer focus on a single point. then, unexpectedly, a slight, almost mocking smile appeared on his face.
„I've been thinking about you lately, you know, y/n?” he replied quietly.
„I've been thinking a lot lately,” he added, leaning heavily against the doorframe, as if his presence there overwhelmed him. “and see where that got me?”
he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness, as if he stood before you not as one who had left, but as one who had been abandoned by the whole world.
there was something in his voice that would have once broken you in half. but today? today you were no longer the same person. currently, on the other hand, you were extremely annoyed.
„to my door? after so many months?” the answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you didn't utter it. something in his empty, extinguished - maybe even pleading - eyes made you freeze and in that silence, everything started to hurt again, as if none of the wounds had really healed, as if his voice alone could make you feel small again.
„don't come here ever again, Joost,” you replied quickly, gathering up the remnants of your strong will.
wanting to close the door in his face, you suddenly felt resistance; his hand stopped the door. you stood paralyzed for a moment - your heart was beating so loudly that you could hear it more clearly than your own thoughts. his fingers clenched tighter on the doorframe as if he were afraid that if he let go, he would lose his last chance.
„I miss you so much,” he added quickly, almost in a whisper. you froze internally.
all he needed to do was say those words, and he had you. just like that.
you hated yourself for how much his words still resonated with you, even though he had no right anymore - not after what he had done, not after he had left.
and yet, you stood there, his voice under your skin, his look in your eyes, your trembling hand on the doorknob.
your hands hung at your sides as if tired of the internal struggle. the whole scene - him in the doorway and you on the edge of sanity - suddenly became too much.
you threw him one last look, no words or anger, just a look that said enough - not about him or yourself, but about this constant struggle for something that had long since ceased to be certain.
you turned around slowly and walked into the apartment. you didn't wait for him or encourage him, but you didn't close the door, either.
and that was enough.
you gave him the green light.
and he, as always, went in where you never quite threw him out.
Joost closed the door behind him with a quiet, drawn-out slam. for a moment, he stood motionless, as if he himself did not believe he was inside again, as if he was afraid it was a dream.
after a while, his heavy footsteps echoed through the apartment, hitting the wooden floor with a familiar rhythm as he followed you slowly and without a word, like a shadow that knows every nook and cranny of the place because it once belonged to him as much as to you.
he walked into the living room and looked at the couch, the bookshelf and your lamp he once hated so much, which still stood where you left it. everything looked familiar and yet foreign.
it was the same place where you used to spend every free moment together, in silence or laughter, but now there was only tension.
you sat down in the chair and pulled your legs up under you as if you wanted to take up as little space as possible - or hide from what was just starting to happen. your fingers tightened on the blanket on the backrest.
Joost stood next to you uncertainly, his hands hanging helplessly at his sides, looking as if he didn't know what to do with them or with himself.
for a moment, he said nothing, just looking at you, the room and the memories that seemed to settle in every corner, heavy as dust. he swallowed his saliva.
„a lot has changed here,” he finally chuckled quietly.
you looked at him with the same tired calm from under your eyelashes.
„yes, Joost. everything has changed.”
the blond man looked at you again - longer and deeper - as if he were trying to see something in your eyes that he hadn't found in months: something familiar, something that would make sense of his life.
after a while, he sank to the floor in front of you without a word. he sat slightly hunched over with his arms on his knees, still not taking his eyes off you.
he was now so close, yet so far away.
the atmosphere thickened. all the unspeakable things had gathered between you in that moment without mercy. you could have cut it with a knife.
your throat became dry as if your body knew words were about to be spoken that shouldn't be spoken.
he looked at you with that intensity you knew all too well - the look of a man who had you in his hands, lost you and is now trying to get you back, even though he doesn't know what he'll do with you when he has you again.
„I miss you,” he repeated after a while, this time more quietly, as if he was afraid of the weight of those words, as if saying them out loud meant he had to admit to them. to the fact that longing was consuming him. to the fact that something inside him broke.
and you?
you felt the words stab you like a knife - not for the first time, but still painfully - and you didn't know what was worse: hearing those words from his mouth again or how much you still wanted to believe them.
„don't do this. why do you have to do this?” you replied in a trembling voice, trying to sound firm.
Joost furrowed his brow and tilted his head slightly.
„do what?” he asked with feigned innocence, even though he knew exactly what you were talking about.
„bring up these topics," you said, the words rushing out faster and faster. „why do you have to bring up the fact that you miss me? what's the point of that?”
the silence between you was heavier than before.
the cruelest part of his return wasn't that he came, but that he reopened all those wounds.
you looked at him with eyes full of weariness.
„you don't get to say that,” you said more quietly after a moment. „not after everything.”
Joost lowered his gaze for a moment, trying to escape the weight of your words.
„I can't help it. when I'm drunk, my brain always finds its way to you, you know?" he replied with a half-smile. but that smile was hollow and cracked, like someone trying to joke about self-inflicted wounds.
your eyes glazed over with emotions you no longer wanted to experience.
„well, maybe stop getting drunk and start taking some fucking responsibility,” you hissed. your voice faltered and you hastily got up from your seat, wanting to escape, at least for a moment, from being at his fingertips.
your body moved faster than your thoughts. you needed space, air - anything that didn't smell like him.
Joost raised his head and looked at you as if he had just realized he was losing you again, only this time there was no door to slam or message you wouldn't read. he got to his feet, still wobbling slightly.
„you think, I don't want to fix it?” he asked quietly. "you think, I haven't been trying?”
you turned to him with a gaze that said more than any words could.
„no,” you whispered. „I think, you only start trying when it's already too late.”
Joost froze. your words cut the air like glass, a shadow appeared in his eyes.
„I didn't know how,” he whispered, as if it were a justification. "I never learned how to be what you needed me to be.”
you sighed quietly and looked away.
„but I'm here now,” he said, almost pleadingly, taking a step toward you.
you held up your hand to stop him.
„Joost, we're past that already,” you said. your words hung in the air, heavy with truth and disappointment.
„y/n, please…" he whispered, his voice faltering as if this request were his last hope.
he stood still, like words he wanted to say were stuck between his heart and throat.
„Joost, stop. besides, I’m seeing someone,” you said calmly but forcefully, feeling as if everything in the room had frozen for a moment.
his eyes widened slightly and then darkened with a mixture of pain, jealousy, and helplessness. he looked at you as if stunned.
„w-what…?" he muttered, his voice breaking as if he were surprised at how much this hurt him.
you remained silent, giving him time to come to terms with what he had just heard - the fact that you were no longer the same person he once knew.
all of a sudden, Joost approached you abruptly and grabbed your arm firmly. all you felt was a throbbing pain. his grip was too strong and desperate, like someone losing control and unable to stop the building anger.
your heart beat faster, your mind began to look for a way out of this sudden trap.
„let me go,” you whispered, trying not to sound frightened, although you felt a growing fear inside.
his eyes glittered strangely, full of contradictions - longing and despair, but also anxiety that had long since crossed the line.
„you gotta be fucking kidding me,” he snapped suddenly, his voice raw and punctuated by nervous breathing. „you are mine. what the fuck do you mean you're seeing someone?”
his words hit you like a cold shower. you clenched your jaw, trying not to show fear even though your heart was beating like crazy.
„I don’t have to tell you anything!” you hissed back.
his grip weakened as if he had suddenly realized how much he had crossed the line and what had really happened. he withdrew his hand slowly, his gaze wandered somewhere far away.
he remained silent and the silence between you was thick and uncomfortable, filled with words no one wanted to say, but that hung in the air, ready to explode at any moment.
you sank to the floor in front of him, tears running down your cheeks involuntarily. you looked up and met his horrified gaze.
„I'm sorry,” he whispered in a breaking voice, kneeling beside you.
"it's too late for that,” you replied just as quietly.
you stood up carefully, feeling him watching your every move. you opened the balcony door again, feeling a sudden, almost desperate need to smoke. the air outside was cooler than before, but it brought relief.
with trembling fingers, you took a cigarette out of the crumpled pack, each movement required strength you no longer had. the lighter went off on the second try - the flame illuminating your face with a golden flash.
you inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill your lungs as if it were your only lifeline. for a moment, the world stood still.
then, seemingly unnoticed, you felt him standing next to you again, his arm nearly touching yours. he didn't say a word; he just looked up at the sky as if searching for an answer.
„we were good together,” he said, barely audible. he turned his head and looked at you with the same familiar softness in his eyes that used to break and put your heart back together.
„weren't we?” he added after a moment, desperately needed you to confirm his version of the past.
„I guess so,” you replied coolly, putting out your cigarette against the metal railing of the balcony.
because it was true; you were good before everything started to fall apart.
you looked again in the direction of the blond man. his eyes were barely open, filled with fatigue and resignation. his body was limp. all the strength that had held him upright had just left him. he leaned against the railing, shaky and fragile - a far cry from the man you once knew.
on the horizon, dawn was beginning to break. the pale light of morning slowly spilled over the rooftops of Amsterdam, exposing everything the night had tried to hide.
„I think, you should go to sleep,” you said, no longer looking him in the eye, your tone calm but distant, as if you were speaking to someone too far away to hear you clearly.
Joost didn't answer right away, just nodding almost imperceptibly, like he knew, he had nothing more to say.
„come on,” you said softly, taking his hand, which was heavy and inert.
you led him slowly through the apartment, taking the familiar route you used to take with a smile, but now there was only silence and the quiet clatter of his footsteps against the floor.
when you crossed the bedroom threshold, you felt something sultry rise inside you. you helped him sit on the bed and he did not protest; he looked at you with tired eyes like he wanted to say something more.
you took off his jacket and a t-shirt, then began to unfasten his belt because you knew he wouldn't be able to do it himself. Joost looked at you with a silly grin.
„all I had to do was get drunk and make a scene at the door for you to undress me again? oh, I’m here for it,” he laughed quietly under his breath.
„oh, shut up, please,” you replied, finishing removing his pants while avoiding his gaze. „you can sleep here. I'm going to sleep on the couch.”
Joost blindly lay down on the bed, his head sinking into the pillow as if it weighed more than the rest of his body. he looked at you from under his disheveled hair. he looked tired but still had the same helpless hope in his eyes.
„I want you to sleep here, actually,” he said quietly, as if afraid that louder words might discourage you for good. „please…?”
you stood over him for a moment, considering all possible scenarios, finally nodding silently and sitting down next to him on the bed.
„okay,” you whispered. „one last time.”
without a warning, Joost pulled you closer, you were now lying face to face with him. his uneven breathing mingled with yours, a mixture of relief and anxiety shone in his eyes. he was fighting with himself, trying to find anything that could fix what had long since fallen apart.
his eyes quickly scanned your face as if searching for answers to questions that had long weighed on him. after a moment, he closed his eyes, no longer able to fight the growing tiredness.
for a brief moment, you watched his calm face, trying to remember every detail. your hand touched his cheek involuntarily, gliding across it gently as if to keep him with you, at least for a moment.
you finally closed your eyes, wanting to fall asleep and forget this goddamn day.
„I love you, y/n.”
you suddenly heard a quiet whisper right next to your ear. it was so soft that it almost disappeared in the night's silence. your heart beat faster and a slight smile appeared on your face.
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