pairing: joost klein x fem!reader
warnings: friends to lovers, heavy angst, cheating, cursing, smut, fem!masturbation, fingering, oral!fem receiving, oral!male receiving, deep penetration, a little bit of fluff, consume of alcohol.
description: the line between staying in a comfortable reality and overcoming your fears to completely change it is becoming increasingly blurred.
author’s note: I think this is the chapter that took me the longest to write.
I wanted to do it well, since it has to be a transitional chapter, and I hope I succeeded. I missed you all, I missed writing, I missed publishing... Im gonna cry.
(sorry if there are grammatical errors, I tried my best, English is not my first language!!!🙏)
part.1 part.2 part.3 part.4
I came home really late. But not too late, considering that according to the plan I wasn’t supposed to come back before morning anyway.
The bed felt hard, rigid like a rock, even though until the day before it had been comfortable, soft, exactly the way I’d chosen it when we went to pick out the furniture for our apartment.
The breath that left my throat had the same texture as the moans of pleasure Joost had torn from me just a few hours earlier.
The shower I took wasn’t enough to wash off the guilt that clung to my skin ever since our first kiss in that cramped little car, the sole witness to my passionate escape.
I showered to scrub away the sticky sheen from my skin, but it didn’t lift the weight gnawing at my chest. I stayed under the hot water for more than half an hour. My reddened skin almost blended with the places Joost had gently marked with his teeth.
It wasn’t pleasant. It was disgusting.
My soft hands slipped under my cheek as I shifted position; practically curled into a fetal ball, I lay on the edge of the bed while my boyfriend slept carelessly beside me. I didn’t want to see him, I didn’t want to cuddle up against him, I didn’t want to pretend to love him anymore - but maybe it was the only thing I still felt obliged to do.
The thread of my thoughts snapped after the first few minutes of trying to keep it under control. It was just me, my breathing, and the cold air of the room hitting the parts of my skin left exposed by my pajamas and the bedsheet that only covered my legs.
I lay there thinking for minutes - maybe hours - I didn’t want to turn on my phone to check the time because I was terrified of seeing my best friend’s name in my notifications. I was afraid of myself, of what I had done.
That room, apparently perfect and ordinary, didn’t hold any story that fit those adjectives. I had crossed the line, and I had liked stepping out of the role of the ideal girlfriend. The worst thing it was that I didn’t know if I’d do it again.
I extinguished the tears gathering in my eyes as fast as they formed, forcing myself to calm down, to stay still on that slab of rock.
I forced myself not to think about it.
I forced myself to close my eyes and try to sleep.
The only sign of sleep that my body allowed me came when a few faint rays of sunlight filtered through the openings in the curtains, signaling dawn and, consequently, signaling that it was too late for a full night's rest.
Not that I would have slept anyway, because my boyfriend, with a sleepy murmur, closed the distance between our bodies: mine cold, rigid, frozen, and his warm, relaxed, welcoming, and unaware.
His hand rested lazily on my left hip and his fingers slipped under the hem of my pajama shirt. I didn’t even have time to process it before my breath snagged in my lungs.
I felt the wet kisses of his lips draw a familiar path: from the nape of my neck to my back, then up to my shoulder, before burying his face in the hollow of my neck.
A neck that had been the object of another boy’s desire just hours earlier - one who had wanted to bite it, and I had stopped him. My closed eyes helped project the image of Joost kissing that spot, when in reality it was Stefan doing it.
I squeezed his hand and gently pushed him away, lifting my shoulder to block access to my sensitive skin. He let out a sleepy little groan, and I clumsily tried to pull away from the contact he was blindly seeking.
“Why did you come home…? Weren’t you supposed to sleep out?” Stefan’s voice pierced my eardrums as his hand remained in mine, unwilling to force any contact.
I turned slowly and my eyes had to face his sleepy, confused gaze.
All this after I had been in bed with another man, after I had really, truly enjoyed myself for the first time in months.
I exhaled through my nose and tried to relax the shoulders I hadn’t realized were tense.
“I wasn’t feeling well, so I took a taxi home… I didn’t sleep well.”
That was the moment I discovered that the girl who had always lived inside her shell, with every corner smoothed down and every desire smothered under layers of anxiety, could lie. She could speak words dripping with falsehood. She could sink a little deeper into the dark mud, more and more.
That morning I kissed his lips, but I didn’t melt into the hug he tried to give me. I made him coffee, breakfast, but didn’t eat a thing myself - my stomach was tied shut. I sat in my usual spot in front of him, but didn’t look at him, didn’t stretch out my cold feet to warm them against his, didn’t ask about the day he had ahead of him, didn’t reach out to hold his hand… I kept my eyes fixed on the morning news on TV, but my mind was far from interested.
I was so terrified that I didn’t write to Joost for days.
I was paralyzed in a state of eternal doubt: I had enjoyed having sex with him, I had enjoyed being wanted by his hands, his mouth, his cock. I had enjoyed cheating and that, above all, made me feel like a slut.
I didn’t write to him, didn’t look for his name in my notifications like I used to - innocently - to see what he was doing. There was nothing innocent left in anything I would do toward him from that night onward. In fact, there was nothing innocent at all.
I spent a long, agonizing week: easily irritated, falling into more moments of silence and reflection than usual, losing focus at work, and Christ, the thoughts of Joost were eating me alive.
He hadn’t written to me, and I hadn’t written to him. The memory of his mouth on my skin was agonizing, deeply scarred into me.
Every time Stefan tried to get close to me physically, my body rejected him even more than my mind did - the idea of giving myself to him again, of silently enduring the monotony of our relationship…
It was guilt, it was frustration that pushed me to keep him at a distance, using pathetic excuses like “I’m tired” “work was stressful” “I’m not in the mood”.
I pushed him away, trying with everything I had to pretend the situation didn’t repulse me.
I tried to scrub Joost’s touch off my skin.
I tried not to think about him.
I tried to convince myself everything was fine.
Nothing was fine. Absolutely nothing.
I needed a way out, needed to find myself in his arms again, to feel once more that wild heartbeat that sent blood rushing through my body.
I needed Joost, and even if I didn’t want to admit it, I needed his love more than I had ever needed his affection before that night of sin.
I found myself staring at the ceiling of the bedroom, appreciating the emptiness beside my body. Stefan was late coming home: he had warned me, and I almost felt relieved knowing I had two extra free hours.
I was wearing a fleece jacket over my heavy pajamas, anything to shield myself from the seasonal cold. Soft pants and the lavender scent of the room that was starting to make me nauseous.
Nothing was perfect. Nothing I had planned had turned out perfect.
A wedding I didn’t want in a relationship that was quietly falling apart.
My hands moved over my abdomen. They stayed still for a few seconds, unlike my thoughts.
Why wasn’t he writing to me? Was he regretting it? Did he not want anything to do with me anymore? Why hadn’t he pulled away when I got close and kissed him? Why had he behaved like that?
My hands slid toward my hips, and my thoughts drifted back to that night clinging to my memory.
I retraced the moments when his mouth was on mine, when his fingers slid inside me. I felt again that shiver along my spine and that warm, familiar heat building between my legs.
“Christ…” I murmured, tilting my head toward my torso and shifting on the bed to settle against the pillows. My nipples grew sensitive, and without even thinking, I unzipped the jacket, slipping one hand under my shirt and one down my pants, starting to move two fingers over my intimacy still covered by my underwear.
I closed my eyes, and the images in my mind traced Joost’s features: his mouth wrapped around my nipple, his hands gripping my thighs while his cock thrust aggressively into my folds.
I bent my knees and spread my legs wide, surrendering to the arousal that had settled deep in my limbs.
I rubbed against my hand, then slid it fully inside my panties, touching my bare entrance.
“Joost…” I moaned under my breath, slipping in my middle finger and arching my back, desperate for as much friction as possible.
I missed the feeling of fullness, the strain in my thighs, his kisses, the soft tickle of his mustache.
I held back another sigh.
My body warmed, my heart pumping harder than normal. I pushed in my ring finger and started masturbating, chasing that wave of desire crashing over me.
Flushed cheeks, dry lips, my back arched, and my guilty fingers drenched in my own wetness.
I came quickly, fueled only by the memory of the sex I’d had with Joost. There was nothing more to say. The room was filled with a silence punctured only by my heavy breaths.
I felt trapped in constant frustration; not even masturbating had helped free me from that weight.
If anyone had entered the room, they would have seen a relaxed body with a vacant, pensive look in the mirror of its eyes, not as satisfied as it wanted to appear.
And my absence was obvious, my distance palpable and apparently the only solution my boyfriend could come up with was to distract himself: to distract his mind, break the routine, accept the invitation to a birthday party at a pub. He persuaded me to accept the invitation - if not outright forced me.
“Come on, y/n, it’ll be fun. We’ll be with our friends, we’ll drink, chat. What could go wrong?”
He had a hat on, purposefully covering his blond strands that rebelliously curled at the nape of his neck. A white shirt with the sleeves rolled up just below his elbows, a blue tie, slightly longer than usual, patterned with little geometric shapes. Long jeans brushing the floor and black boots almost hidden by the fabric. The sunglasses - useless at that hour but stylish - helped hide only partially the look I could feel burning into me even without seeing it.
Suddenly the miniskirt I was wearing felt too short, my heeled boots too high, my soft sweater too warm and my makeup too heavy.
I spotted him immediately. Maybe he was the first person my eyes fell on. Maybe I expected it. Or maybe not. I felt a hollow open in my stomach, and heat quickly spread to my cheeks.
How much I ached for him and how guilty I felt for aching that much.
“Oh, Joost is back. I thought he’d stay out of town longer.” Stefan’s voice ripped me from my thoughts, forcing me to look at him.
Yes, Joost had been back for a while.
“Yeah… I didn’t know either.” I almost feared my tone was betraying me. I squeezed Stefan’s hand tighter with mine - which until a few seconds earlier had been passively allowing itself to be squeezed.
I was soon distracted by other friends. We said hello to everyone, greeted everyone as a couple - everyone except Joost, who avoided stepping into my personal space.
His hidden glances didn’t escape me; multiple chills shot down my spine every time he caught me looking at him. From the outside I probably looked distant, lost in my thoughts. And it wouldn’t have been a lie.
The pub’s atmosphere was welcoming, warm: typical birthday gathering, the typical friendly chatter, none of which I felt part of.
I wanted to talk to Joost, but shame swallowed me whole.
We waited at the bar for a few minutes, drinking something while waiting for our table. Stefan held the gift for our friend.
I sat on that tall stool made of polished wood and wrapped my cold fingers around my margarita. Did I even like margaritas? Maybe I preferred strong liquors instead.
I sighed, looked around and rested my chin in my free hand: laughter, hugs, jokes…
Then Joost again, outside in the cold smoking a cigarette. I could see him through the pub’s main window. He had one hand in his pocket, a crooked smile while talking to someone my eyes purposely refused to focus on.
My image could have been described like the ancient philosophers’ conception of the soul: a soul trapped by matter, longing to rise, to escape that perceptive reality.
I was trapped in that passive nature, but my constant nostalgia pushed me toward something else. I had built an entire life on that passivity and the only one who had ever truly seen me was him.
Him, who now avoided being near me.
Him, who couldn’t stop drifting toward me.
Him, who was probably thinking he had ruined a lifelong friendship for a fuck.
I could read it in his mind. I could feel he was feeling the same things I was. I saw it reflected in the way he drank from the beer he had ordered minutes earlier.
I sighed again, brought the cocktail glass to my lips and turned my head toward Stefan, who was busy talking to the birthday boy.
-Is it possible that we only run into each other at parties?-
My thoughts kept returning to him.
To that blond who walked back into the pub with a loud laugh and the lingering scent of smoke - the same scent I had smelled when his sweaty body pressed over mine, when our tongues met.
After a while we all sat down at the table, and my boyfriend took the seat next to me, his hand settling on my bare thigh. I intertwined our fingers out of habit, out of guilt once again.
That birthday was a torture. Those passing hours were torture and I numbed myself only with alcohol.
Every time Joost spoke, I couldn’t even look at his face without feeling heat rise to my cheeks. I couldn’t even laugh at the jokes he made: the jokes that usually got everyone else giggling, the way he always had.
How could he act so normal? How the fuck could he pretend nothing had happened?
How could he talk to Stefan like that? Exchanging words like they’d been best friends forever.
I brought my lips back to the glass I had filled with alcohol yet again and almost choked on my drink when I heard the words of my boyfriend.
“…since we’re getting married next spring.”
My brain caught only the end of Stefan’s sentence. My blood froze, and my confused eyes immediately turned to his figure on my right.
He had a genuine smile on his face and suddenly I was hit by a wave of inadequacy I had rarely felt in my life. I tried to force a smile, and the congratulations people offered seemed to filter straight through me.
I muttered a “thank you” and tried to mask what I was really thinking.
I bit my lower lip and my gaze dropped to Joost. He was sitting only a few seats away, still too close not to affect me.
His head was bowed toward the glass in his hand and because of the sunglasses I couldn’t read his eyes, but I knew exactly what expression he wore. I knew him too well.
Maybe I looked at him for too long, just enough time for Stefan to answer some shitty joke about weddings.
He squeezed my hand, but I wasn’t there with him. I only looked at him when he called my attention back.
“Why are you acting like this?” he whispered, and I pulled my hand away, shrugging and faking another smile.
“Acting like what?” I tried to play dumb, but I knew he was starting to notice.
He frowned even deeper and shook his head.
“Like this, y/n. Did something happen?” he asked quietly, making sure no one else could hear.
But I felt trapped, because I knew Joost was watching us.
“No… I just don’t feel well. Maybe I drank too much- I’m going to the bathroom for a moment.” I rushed the words out, scooting my chair back and standing up to head to the bathroom.
I was realizing I couldn’t carry that weight, that responsibility.
We weren’t going to get married.
I would tell him the truth.
I had tried to make myself look presentable for that damn birthday party, and in that bathroom mirror I saw nothing but a coward - a girl who couldn’t say how she truly felt.
-Damn him and those glasses. Why can’t he just wear the regular ones?-
I couldn’t control the direction of my thoughts, which kept pulling me toward him.
My reflection spoke to me, even though I said nothing. It told me to stop. It wanted to be seen the way Joost had seen it.
It screamed that it needed love.
Needless to say, I avoided the blond for the rest of the night, clinging to Stefan as if that could redeem the sin of my actions. Sins he didn’t know about.
And needless to say, the ride home was steeped in an embarrassing, heavy silence. He didn’t really understand the nature of that silence, but he accepted it quietly.
My forehead rested against the car window, my slightly tipsy gaze focused on the lights of the city I had lived in my whole life: the only thing that gave me any sense of inner stability.
My phone buzzed in my hand. My eyes caught the notification. My breath stopped in my throat.
“how are you?” 12:35 a.m.
I turned my phone off and went back to staring out the window. Should I answer him?
Should I tell him how I really felt? Should I say something, anything?
“How are you?” I suddenly heard from my boyfriend and I snapped my head toward him, thinking he had read the message from my best friend.
But he was just looking at the road.
He turned his head so our eyes would meet, raising his eyebrows as if to add weight to his question.
“You said you might’ve drunk too much. How are you feeling?” he repeated, as if he needed to clarify his intentions even though there was nothing to clarify in such a simple question.
I tightened my grip on my phone and shifted, stretching my legs out a little before resting my head on the seat.
“I’m tired.” Those were the only words that came out, in an almost distracted tone. Stefan only sighed in response.
The silence went on until the sound of keys turning in the lock. Once we entered and he turned on the lights, the first thing I did was slide off my heeled boots, abandoning them by the entrance.
I just wanted a shower to wash off the memory of that night, which had taken a completely different turn from what I’d expected.
I dropped my phone on the bed and shut myself in the bathroom before I could rethink it.
My boyfriend saw Joost’s message - I’d forgotten to clear the notifications - and when I came out of the shower, feeling the illusion of calm, I found him already under the covers. He turned toward me the second I walked in with my bathrobe on.
“Joost texted you.” His voice sent a chill down my spine. My hands tightened around the edges of the towel and I moved toward the wardrobe to get underwear from the top drawer.
“Yeah? And what did he say?” I answered, my back still to him because apparently I was incapable of facing him properly.
“He asked how you are…” he said, clutching the blanket, eyes fixed on me as I turned to grab my pajamas. “…which is kind of funny, since he didn’t even talk to you at the party.”
He finished his remark. I forced a smile, shrugging, hugging the clothes to my chest.
“You know how he is” I said simply, never meeting his gaze that I could feel it burning into my face. My heart was racing, even though nothing had actually happened. It was just guilt - raw and loud.
“Yeah, I know how he is…” he echoed, before letting silence settle between us again.
He pulled the covers over himself and turned away, putting distance between us. Even more.
That scene broke my heart, stoked my anger.
How could he not understand anything? Was this really the direction he wanted to take things? Why didn’t he ask me about my reaction at the party, about that marriage comment?
Why didn’t he talk to me before saying it in front of everyone? How could he be selfish even now?
All those questions and that faint drunken haze vanished the moment I slipped into my pajamas and lay down beside Stefan… found myself holding my phone, screen dimmed, Joost’s chat open.
There was no “seen”, no last online, no profile picture but he was there. I could feel him in the three dots that kept appearing and disappearing.
“Why are you asking me?” Sent at 1:15 a.m.
It was the first thing I wrote, curled under the covers, keeping distance from Stefan’s back.
Who knows what Joost was doing, I wondered… not knowing that he, too, was under his blankets, cigarette between his fingers, staring at his phone, ready to answer anything I sent.
Because he, too, had spent days in confusion not knowing what to do, wanting so badly to text me but never finding the courage.
Seeing me in that tiny skirt had done something to him; it had stirred something inside him, something whispering that he should reach out.
He had cursed me for disappearing.
He, too, had gotten hard in his boxers remembering that night. He, too, had his mind completely wrecked by my image maybe even more than when he had tried to hide his feelings.
“Because I care” Sent at 1:15 a.m.
He replied instantly, without hesitation. I bit my lip and turned onto my right side, back pressed to my boyfriend’s.
I didn’t know what to say next-
“You didn’t seem very happy at the party” Sent at 1:16 a.m.
I smiled, unable to help it, imagining him typing those words actually worrying about me.
“You had time to watch me, but not to talk to me” Sent at 1:16 a.m.
I wrote with a small smile still on my lips, pulling the covers up around my shoulders and holding the phone close to my face.
He smiled too, the second he read my message. He felt the same ache of relief in his chest. Nothing was ruined.
“And when exactly was I supposed to talk to you? And what was I supposed to say?” Sent at 1:17 a.m.
“I don’t know. Even just a hello” Sent at 1:17 a.m.
“I did say hello with my eyes.” Sent at 1:17 a.m.
“Let’s say we’ll say hello properly tomorrow.” Sent at 1:17 a.m.
What did I even mean by that? Not even I knew.
And I had probably confused him too, because he stopped replying for a good five minutes.
He was thinking of how to invite me over.
He put out his cigarette in the ashtray, plugged his phone in, and tried to figure out how to phrase it. Even though it shouldn’t have been that difficult.
“Tomorrow, if you want, I’m free. If you tell me you’re coming, I’ll be home” Sent at 1:24 a.m.
A shiver shot through my lower belly when I read it, and I turned the phone off without meaning to, letting out a frustrated sigh. Of course I would go. I was already planning to go. That invitation was simply confirming something that was already going to happen.
After work, I took the metro toward Joost’s place. I sat by the doors with my earphones in, comforting music drowning out the noise around me.
I opened our chat, which held a few more messages from the previous night.
“I’m on my way” Sent today at 7:02 p.m.
I wrote simply, waiting for his reply but it came immediately, before I could even close the app. I didn’t know he was smiling, stomach dropping from the excitement of knowing he’d see me again, after that night days ago.
“I’ll be waiting” Sent today at 7:02 p.m.
The sky rumbled a little, dusk already fallen, leaving a soft darkness that wrapped perfectly around our secret night - hidden from everything and everyone.
I saw his eyes after a few minutes - maybe fifteen, maybe twenty - when he opened the door right after I rang the bell, after unlocking the gate for me.
His hair was messy as always. Honestly, it was surprising he wasn’t wearing a hat.
He had soft shadows under his eyes, partly hidden by his thick glasses, his nose slightly red, and that mustache always sitting above the lips I’d had the privilege of tasting, of savoring, feeling as if they were truly mine.
He let me in after smiling when he realized we were studying each other.
My hand tightened around the strap of my canvas bag, the sound of my shoes on the floor fading the moment I slipped them off by the entrance.
The same mix of cigarette smoke and air freshener from the last time filled my lungs, and Joost’s voice reached my ears.
“So? How are you?” he asked, walking past me and giving me a quick look, waiting for an answer to a question I had been avoiding while his body, covered only by a white tank top and loose pants hiding his long legs, moved toward the kitchen.
Did I really have to answer?
“I’m… honestly in the mood for a beer right now” I said with a small laugh, trying to lighten the weight that had settled on my shoulders.
His laugh and the sight of him walking out of the kitchen with two beers in his hands lifted that weight a little.
I gladly accepted the drink and headed to the small living room that, with the way it was arranged and messily lived-in, made me feel so much at home that I almost felt out of place.
I dropped my bag on the corner of the couch and let myself sink into the cushions, feeling Joost’s eyes travel over my body - lingering - before his breath deepened, maybe resigned, and he shifted his gaze casually toward the turned-off TV.
A moment of silence lasted for several minutes.
“Aren’t we going to talk about it?” he finally said, breaking it with a quieter voice than usual as he sat down beside me.
I kept my eyes on the ceiling, sipping the cold, bitter beer that numbed my spiraling thoughts.
“Talk about…?” I let the sentence hang, my left hand clutching the denim over my thigh.
I could see the hair on his chest peeking through the edges in his tank top, his nipples showing through the thin fabric, his legs spread, his tattooed hands holding the bottle, his right index finger tapping absently against the glass.
He lifted his eyes to mine and parted his lips just before speaking.
“Yes. About all of this.” He confirmed his intention, glancing at my lips as I licked them a moment later.
I filled my lungs, unable to hold his gaze anymore, staring instead at the bottle in my hand as my heartbeat picked up speed.
“Do we really have to? I mean… it happened, we were stupid and irresponsible-”
“What?” he cut in, his body tensing, pulling my eyes back to him.
He frowned, forehead wrinkling.
“I mean…” Another deep breath, a slight shake of my head, shoulders lifting helplessly. I had no more words and no desire to find them.
“I mean that-” I looked at him again, biting my lower lip, his expression growing even more confused.
“Do we really have to talk about it? Do we need another confirmation? Why do you even want to talk about it?” My tone was too sharp, maybe, but I was desperate.
He stared at me for a few seconds, then turned fully toward me, gesturing between the two of us.
“Why? y/n, let me remind you that the last time you came over we fucked. And let me remind you that you’re supposedly getting married next spring.” His tone was incredulous, astonished and I lowered my gaze again, taking another sip.
“It’s a strange situation, isn’t it?” he added with a hint of irony though not enough to make me look at him.
I stayed silent. Silence was all I was good for.
“When are you going to leave him? It wasn’t exactly fun seeing you two together yesterday” he said, making my fingers clench even tighter around my jeans.
Another frustrated sigh slipped from my lips - one more.
“It’s none of your business.” I whispered before standing up, leaving the half-empty bottle on the table and grabbing my bag.
I couldn’t keep silent and I couldn’t make the same mistake again.
His confusion was palpable. He set his bottle down next to mine and stood up quickly, following me, refusing to let me leave.
He grabbed my wrist and turned me around - wanting, needing, almost begging for a confrontation. He looked shocked and angry all at once, unsure what to think, what to do except follow his instinct.
“None of my business?!” he raised his voice a little and I locked eyes with him, my pulse thundering, his cold fingers wrapped around my warm wrist.
“Y/n, it is my business. I confessed my feelings to you, and you kissed me- you… You did that! And now you owe me an explanation. You need to tell me what drove you to do it- what- y/n, for fuck’s sake, you didn’t even reach out to me.” His words spilled out, breathless and frantic, his grip tightening as if to keep me from even thinking about leaving.
I mirrored his expression, shaking my head.
There was a new tension in the air, completely detached from the initial atmosphere.
“you did? Did you reach out? Do you even know what I’m feeling right now? No, you don’t!” I yelled back, trying to yank my wrist free.
“Yes I do! Of course I do! Because I’m feeling it too! And that’s why I’m begging you to explain what’s happening.. what we did- what that night meant to you. What you want from me. What you want from my feelings.” His voice matched mine, desperate and raw, his grip loosening slowly. I watched his cheeks flush, his lips part, tongue brushing over them nervously.
I freed my wrist and wrapped my arms around myself, staring at him.
What did it mean? A way out.
a light in the dark tunnel my life had become.
It meant escape, heartbeats so loud they hurt, my body reacting at the memory of us. It meant life.
“Y/n… I’m asking because I want you. But I don’t want to suffer. That’s why I was distancing myself from our friendship. It was hurting me.” His voice softened as his eyes searched every inch of my face.
My heart thudded violently. I tightened my grip on the bag’s straps like they could stop me from doing something stupid.
I didn’t want to face any of it.
We held each other’s gaze for long seconds - like so many times before. I could feel his insecurity.
I could see everything he felt.
I let go of the bag’s straps and grabbed his cheeks, pulling him toward me, crashing our lips together for the second time.
Of course he didn’t pull away. Of course he didn’t even hesitate.
He grabbed my hips, squeezing them with his cold hands, sliding them under my sweatshirt after only a few moments.
I shivered, rising on my toes as I held his face firmly against mine.
We parted just a little, just enough to look at each other again, as if we were addicted only to crash back together like magnets.
His fingers dug into my skin, our tongues searching for each other. My hands stayed on his face. If only I had tamed those impulses, if only we had found a way to talk before.
His hands slid to my ass, pulling me against him, urging me to jump so he could lift me.
I let him and he carried me, our beer-stained breaths mixing.
I ran a hand behind his neck, grabbing his blond hair, pulling hard enough to draw a low, guttural moan from him - one that melted into my own breathless sighs.
I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to lose myself in him again, to escape the reality crushing me.
And he, aware, obedient to that unspoken desire, took pleasure in having for the second time the body he had wanted for years.
On the bed he didn’t waste a second unbuttoning my jeans, undoing my belt. His hands moved with fervor. Between hungry, sinful kisses, he pulled off my shirt, taking a moment to admire my chest, my expression, my messy hair.
Then he stripped off his tank top, my sweet pleading dragging him back to my lips.
“Joost, I want you too… I don’t want to suffer either…” I murmured against his rosy lips, which didn’t stop kissing and worshipping mine. His hands were on my thighs, squeezing my feverish skin.
He pulled away just enough to look into my eyes, breath uneven against my face, his silver necklace hanging against my neck.
“No more talking now…” he whispered, brushing his nose against mine and kissing my forehead, the cold pendant grazing my skin.
“…got it?” he finished, raising his eyebrows slightly, focusing on my glossy eyes completely captured by him.
I bit my lower lip, squeezed his smooth, bare shoulders with my arms, and nodded. That was where the line ended - between rationality, reason, mind, and instinct, passion, pure sex.
I loved slipping my hands into his soft hair to pull it; the little sounds he made only turned me on even more. And he learned what effect he had on me the moment he slid his hand inside my panties, teasing my clit and making my back arch.
He bit the delicate skin of my neck, then kissed the same spot so it wouldn’t redden too much.
“You’re always this wet when you’re with me for more than two minutes” he murmured, lowering his face between the hollow of my breasts, still covered by my bra, which he unhooked only after combining the slow movements of his fingers with scattered kisses on my skin.
He lifted his eyes to mine to savor my reaction: my arched eyebrows, my parted wet lips, the flush on my face.
I couldn’t hold back those moans; I clutched his hair and tried to push him lower, showing him just how completely I belonged to him in that moment. He never stopped kissing every part of my body his mouth passed over.
The slight scratch of his mustache on my skin kept making me tremble, adding even more stimulation.
He planted a trail of kisses all the way down until he ended up between my thighs. I fixed my gaze on his face, he kept his eyes locked on my entrance as he enjoyed the wet sounds caused by the meeting of his fingers with my intimacy, while his mouth was busy leaving tender kisses on the inside of my thighs.
“Please- I beg you…” I whispered, sliding my hands onto the sheets, gripping the fabric, arching my back without knowing how to position my restless legs, which eventually settled on his pale shoulders.
“You don’t need to beg. You know I’m gonna make you come anyway” he said, using an ironic yet soft tone that only earned a glare from me, a glare that amused him.
A glare that didn’t last long at all. It didn’t last at all, really, because he finished sliding my panties off and wasted no time before plunging his tongue inside me.
That complicity was what completely devoured me.
A shiver ran down my spine and I settled my legs over his shoulders, tightening my thighs around his face as I surrendered to that intoxicating pleasure. His mouth moving against my lips, his tongue inside me, his thumb circling my sensitive bud.
My cheeks felt hot, flushed with embarrassment and with my body’s pure, helpless reaction.
Whenever I had the courage to open my eyes, I always found that blue - Joost’s blue. I always found that anchor I clung to with my nails and with my teeth, so I wouldn’t fall into the abyss.
It wasn’t just sex. Not when all I wanted was to hold him close and never let him go.
He pulled away from my intimacy just as he sensed I was about to reach the peak. My wetness was smeared across his chin, his lips, the shiny tip of his nose.
He licked his fingers, still coated with my taste - his saliva mixing with my arousal as his tongue slid over his middle finger more than once. If he had pushed me just a little further, that sight alone would have been enough to make me come.
I sighed in frustration and brought an arm over my eyes, almost as if to hide from him again - from that view. My chest was bare and heaving.
“Good thing you said you were going to make me come…” I muttered softly, earning a laugh and a quick kiss on the lips, the only part of my face left uncovered by my arm.
“You’re so impatient… If I make you come right away, you’ll just leave right after” he said sweetly, hiding his face again in the crook of my neck, giving me delicate little kisses. I smiled with a tinge of bitterness in my expression, threading my fingers through his hair and trying to pull him as close to me as possible.
I didn’t know how to answer. I just stared at his half-hidden face and wrapped my legs around his hips, urging him to finish what he had left halfway.
We connected our lips again and I felt his grip tighten even more on my naked hips. It took only a moment before he told me to get on top of him.
He lay down beside me, never removing his hands from my trembling skin. He guided me to straddle him and I rested my hands on his chest: tracing the little tattoo on his shoulder, then caress his stomach, his pelvis.
My face leaned toward his again, just like cats seeking affection. He laughed, that genuine sound vibrating in his chest, while his gaze - lost and soft - lingered on my features.
I braced myself with my hands on his hips and brushed my forehead against his, then my nose against his, then against his cheek. He slid a hand up from my hips and wrapped it around my throat, pulling me into a messy, sloppy kiss made only of tongue and teeth.
I moaned into his mouth and arched my back, grinding purposefully over his hardness through his pants and boxers, though those layers didn’t do much to hide the sensation of my wetness.
He tightened his fingers, his grip holding my face still for a few seconds, and reflexively my hand moved to clasp his wrist.
I panted when we pulled apart, looking into his eyes while my hips kept rolling up and down, feeling him grow harder beneath me.
He closed his eyes, lips parted and swollen, letting out a needy, helpless sound. I pulled away from his face, made him release his grip around my neck and placed my hands back on his chest, pushing my hips harder against him, feeling him throb with need.
“The condom- wait” he interrupted my movements, gripping my bare hip while reaching toward the nightstand. He opened the first drawer and grabbed a packet. Maybe he didn’t want a repeat of last time. I was on the pill - he knew that - so we didn’t really need it. But I let him handle it this time. It would all be simpler.
I took it from his hand, noticing how his gaze followed only my movements, my hands, my body. I smiled faintly, grinding against him once more before shifting backward until my face hovered over his sensitive area.
He took a deep breath as I hooked my teeth on the waistband of his pants and boxers, pulling them down toward his lower belly, over the soft blond hairs, then releasing them and making him jolt.
He tried to keep his hands on the mattress, but I could see how badly they wanted to reach up and take control - at least partially - to get the pleasure he craved.
That view flattered me. It made me smile.
This time I used my hands: gripping the waistband of his pants and boxers, pulling them down and revealing his hardened, flushed length. I felt the walls of my intimacy clench around nothing, and I parted my lips, sliding a hand onto his shaft, making him jerk beneath my touch.
The scent of him: clean, warm, aroused… the sight of his hardness waiting for me, the taste of him once I finally took him into my mouth… it all gave me that uncontrollable desire to feel him inside me again.
I imagined how much he must have been enjoying the view of my face buried in his pleasure - his eyebrows arched, his chest rising and falling, one hand twitching as he resisted the urge to hold my head down and push me deeper; he used it only to grip my hair, to caress my cheek.
He bit his lower lip when I, after grabbing the condom, placed it between my lips, and with the help of my hands managed to slide it down over his angry, swollen tip.
I almost gagged, taking him all the way to the base before pulling back with a suck that left him wanting to feel that delicious friction again.
“Holy shit…” he cursed under his breath, reaching for me and speeding up the movements I made as I rose back up his length.
His fingers dug brusquely into my hips, sinking into my skin. I steadied myself with my hands against his chest and pressed my mouth back to his.
Right as we were kissing, I let him slip inside me. I tightened around him and finally I could let out a moan of satisfaction - one that was swallowed immediately by his mouth.
My thrusts were needy and messy from the start, chasing a pace that could satisfy our urgency. I felt him sliding into me with a pleasurable friction.
His trembling hands kept moving from my hips to my ass, gripping hard enough to leave marks, though in that moment I didn’t care at all.
His mouth was everywhere on my skin: my lips, my neck, my cheek - he had his lips on every part of my body.
His eyes were searching only for mine, worshipping my body with a hunger that looked almost reverent; he was trying to imprint every second into his memory, unsure if these images would ever form again.
I could feel his fear beneath all those layers of arousal.
I could feel the meaning behind those tight grips, those endless kisses - his intentions mirrored mine perfectly.
I arched my back when he started guiding my movements with deep, deliberate thrusts. I pressed my chest to his, tangled my fingers in his hair, and fused our tongues together, trying to smother my moans with his own.
The room echoed with the wet sounds of our bodies, the slick noises of our tongues, our heavy breaths and just as we were nearing our peak, the sound of my ringtone broke through everything.
“Fuckkkk” I muttered, forced to keep moving, both by raw physical need and by Joost’s hold around my body. It was definitely Stefan wondering where I was. The thought sliced through my mind, and it was as if Joost could read it.
“Don’t answer it… just- wait” he growled, his arms tight around my waist more, his face buried against my sweaty neck, where waves of shivers kept running every time he drove into me.
“Fuck Joost!” I cried out his name loudly, my movements breaking apart as his deep, sloppy thrusts took over: he was chasing that tortured orgasm just as desperately as I was.
Even that ringtone wasn’t enough to remind me of the shameful act we were committing.
The passion was too overwhelming, too poisonous to escape.
The sound pierced my ears and stayed there until I felt my body tighten, surrendering to the wave of pleasure that pushed me over the edge.
“Don’t leave…” Joost whispered, barely audible, arms locked around my waist as he delivered a few final thrusts and reached release just seconds after me.
We were breathless. My legs wrapped around his hips, his body still buried deep inside mine, our sticky skin pressed together like glue, our foreheads resting against each other.
He opened his eyes at the next ring of my phone and looked at me almost painfully: sweat glistening on his skin, his eyes glassy and drawn to mine, his hands clutching my flesh, his lips still struggling for breath.
“Don’t leave…” he murmured again, right against my cheek, his voice drowning out the last rings before the call finally stopped. He dragged his lips over my flushed skin, leaving a trail of kisses up to my mouth, which captured his guilty lips again.
But I couldn’t stay much longer. That escape route would end.
Those minutes of detachment would end.
I came home three and a half hours late with the excuse that I’d stayed longer at work. Without explaining why.
I was tired of that facade but the weight of confessing what I’d done was too heavy. For the second time.
“Where have you been?” was the first thing I heard as soon as I stepped back into that house-tomb that I willingly let swallow me.
“I told you, at work” I answered, my tone almost annoyed as I kicked off my shoes and hung my bag on the coat rack by the door.
A heavy silence fell, one I didn’t know how to deal with. With a sigh, I moved past the entrance to head down the hallway.
I heard a scoff from my boyfriend, who had been waiting there leaning against the wall, and stayed there until I walked past.
“Y/n, can you tell me what’s wrong? You won’t even look me in the face anymore!” he snapped, bitter and frustrated, following me as we headed toward the bedroom.
I was just as frustrated as he was but of course he couldn’t see it.
“Stefan, I’m tired” I replied flatly, sitting on the edge of the bed and starting to take off my socks to get comfortable.
He let out a breathy laugh and shook his head, lifting his arms in pure surrender.
“Of course! You’re always tired, you’ve been tired since we got together!” His voice rose and that challenge, that crossed line, only added more weight onto my shoulders. I lifted my head, brows furrowed, and stared at him at the face I had once been in love with.
“No, Stefan. I’m tired now. I’m tired during this period of my life, but you only care about yourself!” I started with the same ferocity one that had probably been trying to surface for a while. It surprised me… it surprised him too, judging by the expression on his face.
“You’re so wrapped up in yourself, in your desires, in your own thoughts, that you told all our friends we were getting married when you didn’t even bother to talk to me before announcing it!” I got up from the bed and let out a frustrated huff, feeling tears form in my eyes. It was pure nerves.
He watched me move toward the bathroom and then followed me, stunned.
“Sorry if I thought you’d be happy! Excuse me so much, huh?” His sarcasm was so sharp it made me snap. It burst the bubble we’d been living in. It pushed me past the limit.
“No, Stefan! I’m not happy because I don’t want to get married!” I shouted every balled-up feeling and confusion right into his face with that one sentence.
The crack deepened - became something irreparable. Those eyes I once dreamed our children might inherit were staring at me with bitter shock.
It wasn’t my fault if fate had painted only the blue eyes of a blond man even more lost than me into my mind.
It wasn’t my fault if my heart had started beating for someone else.
