pairing: joost klein x fem!reader
warnings: cheating, mention of adolescence, heavy angst, smut, creampie, friends to lovers, nipple sucking, fingers sucking, hardcore missionary, little fluff and comfort (very very little in this first chapter).
description: one day youāll wake up and realize that the life you dreamed of was a lie. That tranquility actually hides a bottomless pit leading straight to despairā¦ and what better way to cope than by sleeping with your best friend? I can think of many, many others.
authorās note: Iām not responsible for your tears. I admit that while writing this I cried, especially during the smut part, but just pretend nothing happened and start reading.
(sorry if there are grammatical errors, I tried my best, English is not my first language!!!š)
part.1 part.2 part.3 part.4
āāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāāā
Tranquility. Perfection. No faulty piece of the puzzle.
My life was supposed to be simple. No wrong moves, no regrets, no drastic, anguish-filled changes, no heavy judgment weighing on my shoulders.
My life was meant to follow a line: straight, thin and without spotlights.
Mandatory school, university, degree, job, marriage, children, retirementā¦
Everything should have been under control, under my control, in my little corner of safety, with the reassurance that I would always know what was coming next in my timeline.
And maybe the price to pay was reaching twenty six unable to enjoy sex, with insomnia, anxiety, that same anguish I had tried so hard to push away but ended up feeling stuck to the walls of my chest like some disgusting greenish slime you usually find in closed, damp places.
āAre you with Stefan tomorrow night?ā The voice of one of my closest friends since childhood echoed in my ears, momentarily disconnected from the real world.
āHm? I donāt know, probablyā I replied, even though my tone sounded more bored than usual. My body was sprawled on her messy bed, while my eyes wandered around her bedroom: it looked chaotic, but the kind of chaos you welcomed and accepted because it was comforting. White walls covered in photos, fairy lights, scribbles, stickersā¦
āWhy?ā I raised my eyebrows, turning my head just enough to let my gaze fall on my friend sitting at her desk, finishing her makeup to go out with a guy she had met at a club a few days earlier.
āThey wanted to organize a night outā she said casually, her eyes fixed on the mirror in front of her.
I didnāt really feel like going out, but maybe it would be good for me. Lately, there were very few people to whom I actually showed my real mood.
Was it even necessary to show it? Was it necessary to let the world know that all my plans were crumbling into a thousand pieces?
āWhose idea? With who? Whoās going?ā I bent my knees slightly, grabbing my phone to check my latest notifications without really paying attention.
āIt was just an idea. The whole group should be there- you know Joost is back, right?ā
I dropped the phone on the bed and pushed myself into a half-seated position, leaning on my elbows against the mattress.
āHow long has he been back?ā I asked, genuinely curious and maybe a little disappointed he hadnāt texted me to let me know. Usually, after every little trip, heād always send me a message.
Joost was also a childhood friend of mine. Maybe the only one who truly knew how to read me, look inside me, and understand when something was wrong.
We spent our childhood years always together, always sitting side by side, always playing in that little park outside his house that, during our teenage years, became the place where weād hide to smoke weed and spend the afternoons talking.
I had never been a reckless girl, always high, drunk, hungry for partying. I never felt comfortable in overly chaotic clubs or at concerts that forced me to feel strangersā skin pressed against mine. None of it matched the tranquility I craved.
But with him, it was different. Every time, he managed to make me try experiences I would never have even remotely thought of approaching.
He was the one who pushed me to smoke my first joint, to skip school one day - before he dropped out to chase his career -, to walk kilometers and kilometers just to reach a fair so we could be together. Many of my first times were tied to his presence and our friendship was the only one I truly trusted.
Or at least thatās what I thought.
āCome on, Iāll take you somewhereā he suddenly said, standing up from the curb that lined the school building where we had been sitting to rest during a break in early May, carrying the exhaustion of the whole year on our shoulders.
āWhat do you mean?ā A frown of confusion and suspicion crept onto my face before my seventeen year old mind began to wander toward tragic scenarios. But the smile on his pale face was anything but worried; he was confident.
His soft hand - the one I had held so many times - stretched out toward me, still curled up against the wall with my knees pressed to my chest.
āExactly what I said, Iāll take you somewhereā He replied nonchalantly, glancing around for a moment to make sure no teacher was lurking in the garden.
āNow? And what if someone find out we skipped?ā I shifted, stretching my legs and grabbing the canvas bag that had replaced my backpack for months now, lying against the wall just like my back.
āAnd what if they donāt? Have I ever let you down?ā He answered without hesitation, then leaned forward, grabbing my free hand to help me up. I stayed close to him, never letting go of his hand, which - aware of my hesitation - tightened around mine in response.
The adrenaline of skipping school that day led to a joint, smoke swirling in our lungs, words carried away by the wind and the realization that those carefree and seemingly innocent teenage moments would pass quickly. Maybe too quickly.
As time went by, with the start of adulthood, our relationship seemed to calm down, settle back into place, respect distances. Sometimes weād text, sometimes weād meet, but only with others around, especially my boyfriend.
I never missed a chance to let him know how proud I was of the path he was carving out with his dreams.
Maybe I was a little jealous. But not the bad kind of jealousy.
The kind that passes through your head with the words: āDamn, look at him, how much freer he is than me.ā
I didnāt know, didnāt see, didnāt feel everything he felt for me. Maybe I didnāt want to see it, because it wouldāve been too big and overwhelming to handle for someone as shattered as me, who was only holding herself together with flimsy, folding strips of tape. I wasnāt aware that all those looks, those jokes, that veiled irony went beyond the platonic affection of our friendship.
āI swear Iāll tell the world what an angel you are.ā Irony dripped from his words as his hand wrapped around the beer I had gone to get for him, bringing it backstage while he mentally prepared himself for one of his very first performances as a fledgling rapper.
Maybe I missed 2018. I missed being at the age where you can be everything and nothing at the same time.
āI didnāt do anything special except feed your alcoholic personality at twentyā I chuckled back, leaning against the wall in front of him, arms crossed under my chest, eyes fixed on his body.
He was buzzing with energy: the hand gripping the still switched off microphone, his lips pressed to the edge of the cup sipping the yellowish cold liquid, his tousled hair, the fade at the back of his head, his simple clothes.
By then, I was already in a relationship.
I started dating for the first time shortly after turning nineteen. Stefan had been in my life for over seven years; I had met him at university, and even though he wasnāt part of my circle of friends, he integrated quickly enough. He got invited to outings, parties, birthdays, reunions.
I didnāt mind, on the contrary, I was glad. But something just feltā¦ off.
Something about Joostās behavior.
Something about that situation had always felt off, but to protect me and our friendship, I completely ignored the problem.
That day, however, my boyfriend couldnāt come, and I found myself searching for that blond head - maybe also wanting to escape reality, to know what he had done in Germany, to talk to him, to share that intimate atmosphere that belongs only to lifelong friendships.
I ran my tongue across my lower lip, tasting the alcohol I had swallowed a few seconds earlier. I was leaning against the kitchen counter at one of our mutual friendsā houses and while one of my friends was telling me how heavy and tremendous her day at work had been, my eyes landed on Joost, who was sitting on the couch talking to a couple of people.
āYou should quit that job, you know? Iāve always told youā I said, turning my gaze back to her before leaning forward to grab a handful of chips from the open bag left unattended on the table.
I kept the conversation going for only a few seconds, then slipped away from it, making my way toward the front door, where Joost was about to step outside for a cigarette.
As he was reaching for the silver doorknob, I rose on tiptoe and wrapped my arms around him, resting my chin on his left shoulder.
āHey, celebrityā I murmured, followed by a little giggle when I caught the surprised expression on his face. He brought his hands - one still holding the cigarette and the lighter - onto mine, squeezing them as if he didnāt really want me to pull away. At least not too quickly.
āHey, little ghostā He replied with a low chuckle. Heād been calling me that since I started dating Stefan and every time I tried to act offended because of that, he would tell me it was just irony, nothing that deep.
āYou came back and didnāt text me?ā I pulled away from his shoulders. Feet back on the ground, giving his side a playful pinch that made him laugh harder. He stepped outside, and I followed him.
He was wearing black jeans with the āAlbinoā on the waistband, paired with the belt. Under his zip-up hoodie peeked the white tank top I had so often seen on him.
Nothing special, nothing new. His orange-tinted sunglasses rested on his nose.
I watched him lean against the rough, white exterior wall of that huge house, cigarette pinched between his fingers, now raised to his lips. He avoided my gaze, lit it, and exhaled smoke from his throat.
āSo? How are you?ā I asked, trying to draw his full attention, trying to fill that silence - half comforting, half estranging - by stepping closer and sliding my hand into his hoodie pocket to catch his.
He looked at me, silent, his blue irises half-hidden as they studied my smiling, seemingly calm face.
My heart was in turmoil. I felt guilty- but for what?Maybe because I knew that the way my stomach was welcoming those fluttering butterflies was wrong. Wrong for two friends like us.
Was it him who was making me feel these emotions? Or was it the situation itself that made me feel alive?
Alive. How long had it been since I felt alive?
He rubbed his index finger over the back of my colder hand, then took hold of it, warming a frozen part of my chest.
Physical contact between us had become rare, especially in recent years, when he had done everything he could to avoid standing too close to me.
I didnāt want to see the truth. I didnāt want to know he loved me. I only wanted to enjoy his attention, his jokes, to be his soft spot.
I didnāt want us to kiss under my apartment that night. Or maybe I did.
āIām good, things have been going well latelyā¦ā He said in a faint voice, turning his head to inhale and exhale smoke in the opposite direction. I didnāt really smoke anymore: in fact, compared to my teenage years, I hardly smoked at all.. and he remembered that small detail.
āā¦Iām organizing a tour, Iāve got festivals this summerā He went on, while my eyes dropped to his chest, avoiding his gaze that - even blurred by the sunglasses- it was still tangible.
I leaned into him, resting my head on his shoulder while inside his warm pocket our fingers were laced together, intertwined.
His lower lip tremble before he pulled his shoulders back, signaling that I should move away, at least a little, at least for his sanity.
āStefan? He didnāt come?ā He brought the cigarette back to his lips and let go of my hand. I bit my lower lip, slipping my hand from his pocket to clutch the hem of the skirt I had decided to wear. It wasnāt too tight, reaching mid-thigh.
āHe had plans with his friends.ā The grip on my chest tightened, my gaze falling on a dark bush right in front of the sidewalk.
His tall figure was still leaning against the wall and I mirrored him, placing myself at his side.
Why did physical contact with him feel so wrong? Why did that silence I had mentioned earlier seem to echo back between us again? I was afraid of it.
I had asked him to drive me home at the end of the night. I wanted to talk it through with him. I didnāt want to lose him, didnāt want him to drift away from me.
We barely spoke for the rest of the evening - and even though I tried to deny it - I needed him more than anyone else. He knew me completely, and in that fragile period of my life, I couldnāt have endured his rejection.
It wasnāt like me to face problems so directly. The short car ride was silent, except for a couple of jokes, little bits of irony that felt almost out of place.
I grabbed the car handle to get out once he parked near the gate of my apartment building. I paused for a second, my mouth spoke before my brain had time to process the right words, the right pauses.
āWill you tell me whatās wrong, Joost?ā Maybe it came out too urgently, as my head turned to meet his eyes.
I let go of the handle, unfastened my seatbelt and slid my whole body toward him.
His shoulders stiffened and he immediately averted his gaze from mine, his hands hiding inside the pockets of his hoodie. His legs were spread, as if he were awkwardly confined within the limits of the seat.
āPlease, can you just talk to me? Can you tell me if I did something? Because I canāt take it anymore, feeling you so distant and detached- itās like you donāt even know me, like Iām a stranger to you, and Iā¦ I canāt stand it.ā I spilled out everything I felt, everything that ached in my heart, which was pumping blood at a frightening speed.
He closed his eyes, let out a bitter, resigned sigh, then pretended to relax against the seat.
He still couldnāt look at me.
āWill you explain why you donāt even look me in the face anymore?! You donāt tell me what youāre doingā¦ what youāre- what youāre feeling, how you areā¦ you donāt even tell me how youāre doingā I pushed on, desperate to extinguish that silence that kept stretching on, threatening to make our bond infertile.
He shook his head with the slightest movement, as if to deny what was happening - or maybe to finally accept it, after those long, barren seven years.
āIs this what our relationship has become? No, no, Joostā¦ I- I donāt understand whatās wrong.ā I lifted my palms toward the sky, exhaling a frustrated sigh as a shiver ran over my skin.
āYouāre less sharp than I thoughtā¦ seriously, y/n, I canāt believe you havenāt figured it out.ā His vocal cords released those faint sounds, carrying those words. Still, he didnāt look at me.
I held my breath tightly inside my chest, trapped in my lungs, outside the possibility of breathing.
āYou think Iām okay with this? You think Iām doing this on purpose? Hm?ā His tone grew sharper with frustration, and I didnāt have the courage to answer. I just sat there, watching him, listening to him against the pounding of my own heart.
He pulled one hand out of his pocket to rub his eyes, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head, giving the moment a heavier seriousness.
āWhy do you insist on not understanding? How can you not see that it physically hurts me to be next to you and not even be able to touch you because Stefan is always there?ā
Please, no. Donāt say it.
āI canāt continue this friendship, y/n.ā The words rushed out of his mouth too fast, too clean.
I couldnāt tear my gaze away from him: my heart skipped a beat, and the lines of my face deepened under the weight of the confusion that washed over me.
His expression softened. He took a breath before continuing.
āI like you. A lot, actuallyā¦ donāt you see that- that this isnāt right?ā My stomach sank, and the air drained from my lungs. It was as if the ground had vanished beneath my feet and the only way to survive was to hold onto him.
His gaze dropped to my lips and he raised a hand, letting his cold fingertips graze my heated cheek. I melted into that caress. I didnāt want it to end.
I grabbed his hand to keep it still against my face, rubbing my cheek into it and closing my eyes. Just for that moment, only to open them again when I heard him sigh.
āNow do you see why? I canāt anymore-ā
He wasnāt supposed to say another word. He needed to shut up.
I quickly moved my hands to his cheeks and leaned my body toward his. I held him in place, pressing our lips together as if my heart werenāt aching and bleeding.
He didnāt pull away. He made the same mistake I did.
He moved his lips against mine with passion, with hunger; his mustache tickled my skin and endless shivers ran all over my body in just a few seconds. Our breath grew scarce after our tongues tangled fiercely, riding the fire of sin.
I slid my hands into his wavy hair, pulling his face closer to mine, and while we gasped into each otherās mouths, he cupped my cheeks, refusing to let me pull away.
More than a sinner, I was a temptress.
I tightened my fingers in his hair, let him hold my face as if I were lifeless, while our lips unleashed a rollercoaster of events.
We broke apart, panting, without meaning to. I didnāt look into his eyes, I didnāt have the courage to, not with his saliva still on my lips.
We shared the same breath for a few seconds, until my hands slid down along his shoulders.
āY/nā¦ā His voice came out faint, and the way my name lingered soft on his tongue shattered my breath.
āShut up, pleaseā¦ please donāt say it.ā My eyes stayed fixed on his lips, but his hands, still holding my face, tilted it so I had no choice but to meet his gaze.
His eyes, bare without glasses, were like two locked doors; faint dark circles lay beneath them, and his face carried a gentle flush.
I could feel my heart racing madly, my body heating more and more. It was all so wrong that I couldnāt stop it anymore.
I texted my boyfriend, telling him Iād be staying at a friendās place for the night. He didnāt reply until an hour later.
By then, Joost was busy covering my neck with kisses after taking me to his place, into his bed.
We undressed almost without thinking, his hands everywhere, needy, gripping my ass as if it already belonged to him beyond that night.
I was cheating. I had never thought Iād be capable of such a thing and yet, here I was: half-naked, sprawled across his mattress.
I stifled a moan when his teeth sank into my flesh, my trembling fingers clutching his innocent strands of hair.
āJoost- be carefulā¦ā The words spilling from my lips were already tainted with guilt, and I knew once the passion was gone, the death in my chest would be heavier than what I felt in that moment.
When his fingers slid inside me, I realized I hadnāt been this wet in months. The thought filled me with disgust for myself.
āGodā¦ youāre so wetā I heard him beg me for something I couldnāt quite name, his face once again inches from mine.
He curled his fingers inside me, and that simple movement alone knocked the breath out of me. He caught my lips again and I didnāt pull away. It was too late to stop.
Honestly I didnāt want to stop.
I spread my legs wider, grinding my hips against his hand, rubbing myself against his palm as his index and middle finger moved rhythmically inside my slit.
I tilted my head back, mouth open, catching a broken, wet breath. I closed my eyes - maybe it was the best way to vanish from the world.
His gaze burned into me, devouring me, and I could feel his breath against the goosebumped skin of my breast, still covered by my bra.
His free hand moved to my chest, uncovering me further, his lips closing around my hardened nipple.
āJoost!ā I couldnāt hold back anymore. I clutched the sheets beneath me as his tongue circled my rosy bud, sucking and nibbling its edges. My back arched, the wet sound of his fingers thrusting in and out of my core mixing with the prickling of his mustache against my sensitive skin.
It was all too much - I felt my orgasm starting to build, closer and closer.
But he pulled back, sliding his fingers out and lifting his mouth from my breast. I opened my eyes, forcing myself to take in the sight of him.
His erection strained against boxers with his name on them, his chest heaving, his face completely undone by the pleasure written across mine.
āYouāre so beautifulā He murmured, before pressing his wet fingertips against my lips, begging me to open them.
Iād already tasted myself before, but the sensation of his fingers slipping inside my mouth was far too arousing.
I sucked off all my juices, keeping my gaze fixed on his, while he - almost surprised and completely lost in the moment - couldnāt tear his eyes away from my lips wrapped tightly around him.
We didnāt say much. Talking as if we were lovers felt embarrassing while he was sliding his length deep inside me, fully aware of what we were doing.
He pulled his fingers from my mouth and, with that same hand, grabbed my jaw, holding me still as he found my swollen lips with his once more.
He steadied himself on the bed, knees digging into the mattress, his free hand pushing my panties aside at my core.
Our tongues pressed together, my hands clutched his shoulders, and my legs wrapped tight around his hips to keep him close.
I felt dirty, guilty but it was so thrilling. Repressing feelings had never been the right path, and this was the consequence.
After a few minutes he pushed inside me, his hands gripping my hips as our faces hovered dangerously close, both of us panting.
He thrust into me decisively, so deeply that it almost hurt. My nails dug into the skin of his shoulders, while I was certain that his grip would have left marks on my tender flesh.
He buried his face against my neck, sinking his teeth into the hollow there.
It was a branded memory of the sin I was committing, because every time I felt his teeth on my skin, I had to force myself to stop him.
āDonāt biteā I managed, firm in between moans, just before his groan of frustration rang in my ears. A broken laugh escaped me, my arms tightening even more around his shoulders.
After a few thrusts, he suddenly stopped, but without pulling out. I kept my eyes closed, sensing his movements: he shifted, forcing me to loosen my grip around him.
He placed his hands behind my thighs, lifting my legs and resting my calves over his shoulders. He started thrusting again, leaning forward, without loosening his grip on me.
A loud moan tore from my throat: my muscles strained, but the pleasure was far too intense for me to complain about the awkward position which only made everything feel amplified.
āGod- Donāt stop!ā I begged, cried out in desperation as his thrusts grew harsher. My hands clawed at the sheets again, before sliding into his sweat-damp hair.
His head was bowed, eyes fixed on my legs - I tightened my fingers in his hair, our moans spilling out too intimately together.
It was the best sex of my life, with one of the most desperately wanted orgasms I had ever had.
āIām on the pillā I gasped, when our drunken eyes found each other again. His grip tightened, and he folded even closer into me, ripping a moan from the deepest part of my throat.
He came inside me minutes later, immediately letting my sensitive legs fall to the side of his body, while he tried to catch his breath against my sweaty skin.
Despite the situation, his tender hands caressed the sensitive skin of my thighs.
āHe asked me to marry himā I murmured still breathless, and I felt him stiffen. His entire body went rigid and it took him a few moments to process my words, to give meaning to that sentence.
I released my grip on his shoulders and reached for my bra, still shifted aside and baring my breasts. I tightened my legs around his hips but his hands immediately found my knees, pushing me away.
I felt the passion of the moment dissolve into the air, while my eyes - previously glossy with arousal - filled with raw, premature tears.
āY/nā¦ā He had no words, he couldnāt express himself as he wanted - not after that, not after crossing that line. Not with the hypocrisy of his breath still heavy from orgasm.
With the little strength I had left, I pulled away from him. I felt his seed spill out of me, just as he had pulled out moments earlier, and the pressing need for a shower weighed heavily on my chest.
āI donāt want to marry himā¦ I donāt want to get marriedā I whispered, my eyes unable to even catch his, while his gaze burned against my undressed body, marked with red stains from his lips.
He couldnāt say anything, who could? Nobody.
The awareness of my actions hit me hard, and the tears Iād been holding back for months finally streamed down my cheeks.
āHeyā¦ youāre not obligatedā¦ you don't have to do anything you don't want toā He whispered, as he sat on the edge of the bed before gently pulling me into an embrace that reeked of contradiction.
I let him hold me, stroke my back, whisper words of comfort in my ear while my tears soaked his warm, bare shoulder.
His hands moved in slow circles over my aching skin, and he rested his head against mine in a false pretense of calm.
āIād better goā I said between sobs, pulling away from his arms and locking eyes with him again. His face was weary, his gaze worn.
He didnāt want me to leave. Now he was the one afraid of losing me, afraid it would mean nothing. But he didnāt know that in that moment, my mind could only think about how much I wanted that.
How much I needed him - and maybe had always needed him.
snowghoul
izzy806
vaporwave
gamechangershow
titsay
2087
