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Joost always cringed at those couples that said their life only really started when they met their partner. So why did it ring so true when he thought about you?

When you met, it hadn’t exactly been either love at first sight or smooth sailing. Like so many others, you’d been friends at first, although Joost caught feelings for you embarrassingly fast. How could he not? You had laughed at all his jokes, been there when times got tough and were supportive of his career. You had been everything he wanted in a partner more. Unfortunately, he’d also been hurt way too many times in the past, which is why he was wary of you. And you were the same. You weren’t even looking for a relationship when you met him, just having gotten away from an abusive partner yourself.

It took Joost several months to muster up the courage to ask you out. By then, you were already an integral part of the friend group that met up at least once a week to hang out, either at Joost’s place or at the local bowling alley.

And much to Joost’s dismay, you had said no. You weren’t ready then, scared of losing all your friends if it didn’t work out between you and Joost. You’d felt horrible, but no doubt Joost’s ego was bruised.

But he persisted. Not in a creepy kind of way, not like a man that didn’t take no for an answer. He continued as he always did, offering you his support until you understood on your own that you’d made a big mistake rejecting him. Until all the worries about your relationship just washed away. And you kissed him like you’d never kissed anyone before, with your arms tight around his neck as if afraid he’d run away.

But you said yes on one condition: you wanted to keep it a secret at first. You wanted to explore this connection away from prying eyes. You had made the mistake of an early public relationship before, and didn’t want other people interfering in your love life ever again. So you made Joost promise to not tell a soul, not even his best friend Tantu.

Joost was horrible at keeping secret. Especially not ones that made his heart beat like a kick drum. But he was willing to try and keep his lips sealed for you. And it was hard. Especially hard when he was at Tantu’s house to produce a song and had to pretend he was smiling because he liked the tune so much.

Weeks passed like this. Whenever you hung out together, Joost had to physically restrain himself from putting his arms around you every chance he got. But there were moments; little stolen kisses when nobody was watching, intertwined hands hidden beneath couch cushions. It was intoxicating, this little hiding game you were playing. But it was also hard. Joost was a chaotic burst of emotion and energy, and it physically pained him not to shout it from the rooftops. You made him feel like all the clichés he used to mock: like he’d been walking around asleep until you shook him awake.

So when he finally told his best friend, it wasn’t at all planned. He hadn’t intended to break his promise, but it had become too much for him to bear. Tantu was talking about something mundane, like adding clapping effects to the song, when Joost burst out, “I’m seeing her. You know, her.”

Tantu blinked, confused for a second. Then his eyes went wide. “No way, dude.”

Joost nodded, grinning like an idiot. “Yes.”

“Since when?” Tantu asked incredulously.

“A while,” Joost admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “But it’s a secret, okay? I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“Dude, you’re literally glowing,” Tantu laughed, pulling his friend into a tight hug. “Congratulations, man!”

Joost let out a giggle, embarrassed that you had that sort of effect on him. When Tantu let go, he wore that same incredulous look again. “How? I mean sorry but how?”

“Man, I don’t know either,” Joost said. “I’m way out of her league, aren’t I?”

“You are,” Tantu said, playfully hitting his shoulder. “Don’t mess this up, okay?”

“I’m not going to.” Joost’s tone softened. “She’s different. Like, I’m different around her. It’s not just some fling. It’s –“ He paused, struggling to find the words. “It’s like, when I’m with her everything finally makes sense.”

Tantu raised his hand to tousle his hair. “Look at you, all lovey-dovey.”

Your heart jumped in your chest every time the elevator reached a new floor on its way up to Joost’s penthouse. The numbers on the display in front of you got bigger and bigger as the cogwheel stopped briefly on each floor, taunting you. As a child, getting stuck in an elevator was your worst fear - now it might have just been your saving grace.

Although you’ve been here many times before – under the exact same circumstances every time – it had never felt so cold and foreign before. It couldn’t have been Joost’s warm, drunken smile reflecting off the mirrored walls, or the barely audible yet soothing elevator music in the background. It was rather the realization that these late-night visits had to stop. They were hurting too much. What had started out as a no-strings-attached situation with abundant benefits on both sides had become something way more you had bargained for.

“What’s wrong?” Joost’s husky voice pulled you out of your thoughts. His hair was a tangled, sticky mess after partying in a packed nightclub until the sun came up, but he looked absolutely beautiful to you. And that was exactly the problem.

“Nothing. Why?” You furrowed your eyebrows, embarrassed about getting caught staring.

He smirked, his eyes wandering down to your heels that were nervously tapping against the fitted carpet. “Something’s up with you tonight. What is it?”

“I’m fine. Probably had too much to drink,” you answered, which wasn’t a complete lie. The last glass of champagne had definitely been one glass too many and a headache was starting to creep in.

“Hm,” he answered, and with that the conversation died down, Joost only displaying a sufficient amount of concern that would ensure you didn’t take the elevator back down. But the headache was the least of your concerns. Soon after, you reached the 23rd floor. The big white door had a magnetic pull, maybe inside the timeless capsule that was the elevator you might have mustered the courage to leave, but not with Joost directing you the last couple of steps to his penthouse with his hand skillfully placed on the small of your back, like a guard directing his prisoner to his cell.

Despite Joost’s insistence that he would always remain the same person he had been before his rise to fame, his life had undeniably changed. His once modest apartment had transformed into a showcase of abundant wealth. It was no longer a small, cluttered space but a sleek, stylish penthouse, furnished with designer pieces and decorated with pieces of notable artists. The vintage record player you had once found together at a flea market now felt completely out of place amidst the marble floors and contemporary art. It was hard for you to reconcile the glitz and glamour surrounding Joost with the down-to-earth boy you had met two years ago, and you couldn’t help but wonder if, despite his promises, Joost Klein had become a reflection of his success.

Tossing his jacket and dress shoes in the corner, Joost walked over to the stereo and pressed play before sitting down on the couch. You followed him, placing your clutch down on the golden liquor table right next to it.

“This is gonna sober you up, babe,” he said, reaching into his pant pockets and taking out a small, sealed bag. You couldn’t remember when he started switching to English terms of endearment. In the beginning, he would call you words like schat and liefje. Back when everything was okay. Back when everything felt good. Now everything felt detached, like this was some role Joost was playing and you had to submit to it. No traces left of the man you once knew.

Joost poured the contents of the bag onto the glass coffee table in front of him, then he reached into his wallet which he placed on the table as well. First reaching for his credit card, he used it to spread the white powder into thin lines with meticulous care. You watched him intently, as if beneath these lines lay a hidden message telling you what to do next. You scoffed silently, hoping Joost wouldn’t hear. As if you had a choice. As if the designer dress and the pearl jewelry on your body was just a thoughtful gift.

Completely entranced, you watched him take out a 500-euro bill from his wallet and roll it up. Joost leaned in, the bill positioned above the line, his hot breath tarnishing the glass. With a sudden sharp intake, Joost inhaled the powder, his face tightening momentarily. He inhaled once more before throwing his head back into the pillows, a flush of euphoria crossing his features. His arms drop to the side, the purple bill rolling out of his hand and onto the space between your thighs, leaving white residue on the maroon leather couch.

“Your turn,” he demanded, his voice raspy. Trying to conceal your shaking hands, you take the bill and roll it back up. You mimicked his movements, hovering over the table, right above one of the smaller lines Joost had laid for you. As you placed your nose over the opening of the rolled-up bill, his hands snaked underneath the fabric of your dress, making its way from your thigh up to your ass, giving it a hard squeeze. You inhaled the substance just as quickly, a flush of invincibility entering your neural pathway. You welcomed any sensation that fed into the illusion that this wasn’t actually happening. That you weren’t here right now.

As you threw yourself back, you noticed that Joost had straightened himself up again. He took his hand back so as to not trap it between you and the sofa but saw the look on your face as an invitation to move over you. His lips traveled from your mouth to your jaw and finally to your cleavage, the low neckline allowing access to leave pink and purple marks. To leave his mark on you. Your breath hitched, the sensation heightened by the substance travelling through your bloodstream, which only gave him confirmation to carry on, his hands working his way to the back of your dress to unzip it, leaving you with nothing but a lacy pair of lingerie, another one of his gifts to you. The sensation of his hands on you were almost unbearable in its intensity, his fingers seemed to bury into your skin, feeling the pressure still on you when his hands worked to undo his pants. Time felt distorted; each touch and sound seemed to stretch into eternity as one hand continued to explore your body while the other one massaged the bulge clearly visible in his tight boxers.

“My little slut,” he whispered as he slid one hand between your thighs, feeling the increasing wetness through the thin fabric of your panties. Your body knew something your mind didn’t, or maybe it was the other way around, just adding to the detachment you felt ever since you crawled into that black car with him, or maybe ever since you got to the club.

You shut your eyes closed, his warm hands seeping into every inch of your skin, feeling the way his hands moved your panties to the side to press his thumb onto your clit and finally taking your hand to move it to his bulge. A gasp escaped your mouth, followed by a loud moan as your brain finally caught up to it. His touch became a consuming wave of sensation, overwhelming and beautiful.

“Shall we move this to the bedroom, babe?”

***

It was one of these days where everything pissed you off. You had overslept, subsequently missed your bus and therefore came in late for work, earning you a scolding from your asshole boss. You hadn’t had breakfast, which was starting to weigh on your stomach, and to top it all off, your friends had canceled on you – you were supposed to check out this amazing new Korean Barbecue place that had opened up in your neighborhood. It had been the only thing you’d been looking forward to all week, and now that was taken away from you.

And to make matters even worse, it was a slow day at work. There was no one to humor you besides your Instagram feed you were mindlessly scrolling through. Influencer scandal. War in the middle east. Your ex-boyfriend on vacation with his new girlfriend.

Until your phone chimed. Your empty stomach dropped and the phone almost fell out of your trembling hands.

Joost: I’m lonely, send a pic

And suddenly, you didn’t care that you didn’t hear your alarm or couldn’t try out Korean food with your friend group. All you felt was dirty. Like a cheap sugar baby without the contract.

I’m in a bad mood, you replied. It seemed wild to you that he still hadn’t memorized your work schedule after six months of whatever the fuck this was. Or maybe he just didn’t care.

Joost: Please. I’ll buy you something nice in return.

Joost: I bet you look so fucking sexy right now in your pencil skirt. What would it look like pulled up?

So he did remember. He just didn’t care.

You didn’t want to give in. Certainly not at the prospect of getting clothes you didn’t want and need anyway. But your legs didn’t know that, and before you knew it, you were locked inside the restroom, pulling your skirt up and your tights down, trying to figure out the best angle for the photo. Shoving your panties to the side, pulling them down completely, one finger on your clit, two fingers inside of you. When you were satisfied, you sent the photo to Joost.

You dropped your phone on the edge of the sink as if it would bite you as you fixed your uniform. Immediately regretting it, you reached for it again.

Typing…

Gone.

Typing…

Still nothing.

The thrill inside of you was starting to die down and transform into something else – shame maybe. Guilt. Or maybe even grief. Grieving what could have been between you if you’d never said yes to this god-awful friends with benefits thing.

Then it came. The call. And of course you picked up.

“Damn baby, already wet for me?” His voice was so low and raspy, he was practically growling. “Fuck, your pussy is so pretty.”

You felt as if someone else directed you. Because it surely couldn’t have been you saying, “You like what you see?”

“Mmmm fuck,” Joost whimpered on the other side. You, on the other hand, were rooted to the spot. You’d never been particularly fond of phone sex, let alone at work. This and the fact that Joost was clearly only using you for sex was heavily weighing on you. “Touch yourself for me, baby girl.”

“I’m at work, Joost.”

“I promise I’m quick.”

Of course he was. He always was.

Your reflection in the mirror looked unfamiliar, as if you were seeing someone else’s mistake. You glanced down at your phone, your fingers hovering over the “End Call” button. But you couldn’t bring yourself to press it.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you leaned against the stall door, pressing your forehead to the cool metal. A sigh escaped your lips – one that wasn’t sexy or needy, just tired. Fucking tired.

“I can picture it,” he said, his voice a low hum in your ear. “You pulling those sexy lace panties to the side. That little gasp you make when you hit the right spot. You’re such a good girl for me.”

Your body reacted before your mind could stop it. That reflexive pull of desire, trained like muscle memory. Pavlovian. You hated how easy it was for you to slip into submission when he said all those things to you. To mistake being wanted for being loved.

But it had to stop.

Your voice was barely above a whisper when you asked, “What are we doing here, Joost?”

Silence. Not the sexy kind.

“What do you mean?”

You scoffed, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear with one hand, wiping away a tear with the other. “This. Whatever the hell this here is.”

Another pause. Then a rustle on his end, like he was sitting up. “What do you think this is, silly?”

“I have to go. Boss is calling,” you lied, fixing your skirt once more, flushing the toilet for no other reason than to create noise. To fill the space. To cover up the attempt at making this mean anything more to Joost than a little bit of fun.

“Maybe a pic for goodbye?” Joost teased.

You just hung up.

***

The floor of your bedroom looked like a small boutique had exploded. Dresses, skirts, boots, tops and two different curling irons lay in a big pile on your bedroom floor as you stood in front of the mirror, holding up a sheer black top up to your chest, wondering how much skin was too much tonight.

“I like this one,” said a voice from behind, muffled by some chips.

“You think? Or does this make me look like a slut?” You reached for a dark red blouse, only then realizing how much of your wardrobe was bought by Joost. “Is this one better?”

“We all know what you’re going to the party for,” Ava retorted, “so go for the top.”

 You sighed. “It’s just a house party.”

“Uh-huh.” She raised her brow, chewing slowly. “Sure, Jan.”

You flopped down on the bed beside her, letting the blouse slide from your fingers onto the floor. “Why does it matter?”

“It matters because I’ve watched you orbit around this man for months, like a moth circling a lightbulb that’s already burned out.” Ava picked a pile of fishnet tights off the bed with her toes. “And I don’t like who you are when you’re with him. You ghost me. You flake on plans. You stop eating unless he tells you to. It’s like he texts and only then do you come alive. Like a fucking sleeper agent.”

You stayed quiet. It’s not like she wasn’t right. You had nothing to say in your defense.

“Joost and I are friends.” You hated how fragile your voice sounded. You couldn’t even convince yourself, so why were you trying to persuade your best friend? The person who knew you best?

“Friends my ass,” Ava said, shoving another handful of chips into her mouth. “You know you deserve better than this, right?”

You wanted to tell her that she didn’t understand. That Joost was complicated, and the modern dating scene was even more complicated. That it was messy but there were good parts, too. That sometimes, when he was quiet and you were lying next to him in the dark and he wasn’t trying to fuck or snort anything off the nightstand, it almost felt like something real.

“He likes me,” you offered lamely, folding your hands in your lap.

“Well, he also likes snorting coke and calling women ‘babe’, so the bar is not exactly high.”

You stood up, haphazardly putting together an outfit to go with the sheer top. A leather skirt, those fishnet tights that were lying next to Ava on the bed and some combat boots. “Is this okay?”

“Honey, if he doesn’t drop to his knees when he sees this, just go ahead and throw the whole man away.”

This earned a small chuckle from you as you started undressing.

“Just promise me one thing, okay?” Ava said.

“Hm?”

“Don’t let him get to your head. I don’t want to see you end up hurt.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. But you nodded. “I promise.”

You were already halfway into your third layer of mascara when your phone lit up. Ava had gone home, leaving you to get ready on your own. For a second, your breath caught in your throat.

Not Joost. Just a Vinted notification. Somebody finally bought that ugly sweater you were dying to get rid of.

You picked up the phone anyway, fingers moving instinctively to open your messages. No new texts. The last one of him still sat there, unread again after you’d reopened it for the fifth time.

Joost: You better wear something I can tear off later.

Your stomach knotted. It wasn’t even the words that hurt anymore. It was the space between you. You tried your best to ignore the message and finished getting ready.

By the time you got to the address Joost had sent you, the party was already in full swing. Colorful light spilled from the windows as you passed them, and the bass thumped in your ears in the same rhythm of your heartbeat. Nerves were running high as you walked up the stairs to the front door. As if on cue, the door opened, revealing a drunk couple stumbling outside for some privacy. You took a step toward the door, peeking your head inside to check if you could make out Joost.

Of course, as always, Joost was the life of the party. Dancing on a coffee table, spraying prosecco into his friends’ mouths, passing the bong along to the other partygoers. He seemed like the center of the universe as you watched him from the doorway, taking in his effervescent presence.

You hesitated in the doorway, one foot in the threshold, the other inching forward like it needed permission. Nobody noticed you yet. The air inside smelled like cheap weed and expensive cologne, a cocktail of sweat, smoke and youth.

Joost hadn’t seen you. He twirled around, his blond hair sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed with adrenaline and whatever he’d taken. There was a halo of attention around him, like always. People laughed louder when he spoke, moved closer when he danced, floated in his orbit like satellites terrified to drift too far.

You could’ve turned around. It’s not like Joost needed you there. Maybe you even should have turned around. But something kept you there, like a magnet.

Then, as if summoned, his eyes found yours. A flicker – recognition, desire, something else you couldn’t name – passed over his face. It certainly wasn’t the same glint you had in your eyes whenever you saw him. It looked a lot more possessive. The bottle slipped slightly in his hand.

“Y/N!” He yelled, and suddenly, it seemed like the world stopped around you. Dozens of pairs of eyes were fixed on you.

“Don’t be shy, love. Come on over,” he added, waving his hands towards you. And when Joost told you to do something, you obliged.

He leaned over the coffee table littered with white powder, empty shot glasses and rolled up money bills to give you a side hug. You didn’t need any drugs; Joost’s cologne and his warm body against yours was enough to make you feel lighthearted. But by the time you had adjusted to him against you, he had already pulled away. “Drink?”

“Whaddaya got?”

“Anything your heart desires, m’lady,” Apson, who was on the couch next to Joost, answered with a smug grin on his face.

“Can you make me a pornstar martini?”

“Of course,” Joost smirked, “a woman after my own taste. Am I right, boys?”

His friends laughed, and it stung. But it was already way too late to back out, so you accepted the bantering among the friend group.

As Joost walked to the kitchen, you took his place and plopped down on the ragged leather couch. His friends have never been particularly fond of you or the thing you had going on with Joost. Although you had insisted to both your friends that you and him were just friends, they had caught up to the facts quickly. At least they were nice enough to wrap you into some small talk.

Soon, Joost returned, drink in hand. He handed it to you before sitting down on the armrest, hovering over you so he could whisper into your ear, “I can’t wait to tear up those tights.”

“At least let’s dance first,” you demanded, wanting to sound as easygoing as possible, although your knuckles were turning white from the tight grip you had around the martini glass.

Joost didn’t move. He cocked his head, eyes narrowed like he saw right through your performance. Then, as if boredom had caught up with him, he reached out and took the glass from your hand, downed the rest of the lukewarm martini in one swallow and set it down on the already cluttered coffee table.

“You’ve finished now,” he said. “Come dance with me then.”

Right on cue, the music switched from classic hip-hop to techno. The bass dropped just as your fingers brushed his. You let him take your hand and drag you to the makeshift dance floor.

It wasn’t a dance so much as a silent argument set to music. His body pressed to yours, guiding your hips with slow control, then pushing the tempo—testing boundaries. You matched him, refusing to retreat. Each beat struck like a challenge. A hand on your waist, too low. Your arm slung around his neck, too familiar. The way he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear like he owned the air you breathed.

“Ten minutes, then we’re gonna look for the nearest free bathroom,” he muttered, voice muffled by the heat between you.

And then his hand slid down your back, firm, possessive. People danced around you obliviously. The lights stuttered like camera flashes. You could still walk away—you should—but his mouth was almost on yours now, and it was impossible to breathe, let alone move.

Ten minutes were up.

So was your self-control as you followed him up the stairs.

Even the crammed bathroom at the end of the hallway had that distinctive weed stench that was starting to seep into your pores. But you could hardly think about that, not when Joost was towering over you, looking at you with big hungry eyes.

He kicked the door shut, the clicking of the flimsy lock echoing in the small space. The dim light hummed, casting a sickly glow on the space around you. He didn’t waste a second as his hands found your waist, pulling you against him. There was an urgency in his touch as you met his gaze, a mixture of apprehension and raw desire swirling within you. This was impulsive, reckless and everything your rational mind screamed against. But rationality had left the building a long time ago, replaced by the insistent drumming of your heartbeat and the intoxicating scent of him.

He reached for your top, pulling it upwards, revealing a black bra. “You know, for a minute there, I thought you were going to bolt,” he breathed, his voice thick with anticipation. Your pulse hammered against your ribs as goosebumps littered your skin. Then his hands wandered to your back, where he unclasped your bra in one swift motion.

“What if I had?” You managed to get out.

You thought for a moment that Joost didn’t hear you. That he was too caught up in the moment to catch your words as he connected his lips with your body, leaving a trail of kisses and love bites along your neck down to your collarbones. “You wouldn’t,” he muttered against your neck, his voice vibrating against your skin.

And how right he was about that, you thought as you connected your lips with his in a passionate kiss that set fireworks off in your stomach, your hands wandering to his messy mullet while his cupped your breasts, circling your nipples with his thumbs. The tightness of the space made everything feel more intense, the heat from his body enveloping you like a warm blanket. You didn’t care that your heart was racing or that you could hear the faint sounds of the party outside the door. All that mattered was the feel of Joost’s calloused hands on your skin.

He kissed you harder, his tongue delving into your mouth with a hunger that made you ache. Your legs felt wobbly and you leaned against the sink for support, the cold porcelain a stark contrast to the heat between your thighs. He took advantage of your position, his hands sliding down to undo your skirt and slip it off, leaving you in nothing but a black thong.

You felt exposed but also incredibly alive as he knelt before you, his eyes raking over your naked body. He kissed your stomach, his tongue tracing the line of your navel before moving lower, his breath hot against your skin. Your hands went to the hem of his dress shirt as he hooked his thumbs into the band of your thong and pulled it down, leaving you bare before him.

With one swift motion, Joost heaved you up on the counter, his hands tight around your thighs, his bulge pressing against your center. Your hands found his hair again, tugging on it, desperate for more. “Joost, please.”

He took the hint, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he knelt and began to suck and nibble on the sensitive bundle of nerves. The sensation was overwhelming, your body responding to his every touch, every flick of his tongue.

You could feel yourself getting wetter, the sound of his mouth on you echoing in the small room. Instinctively, your hands went to his belt, unbuckling it and unbuttoning his jeans. Your trembling fingers slipped inside his boxers, wrapping around his hot, hard length. He groaned into your skin as you began to stroke him, matching the rhythm of his tongue. The sound of your breath mingling with his was the only music in the room, already having forgotten about the party downstairs.

Joost’s hands slid up your thighs, spreading them wider, giving him better access. He teased you with his thumb, tracing your folds before sliding it inside you, making you gasp. His fingers moved in time with your strokes, filling you up and making you crave even more. “You like that, huh?”

“Please, Joost. I-“ you moaned, overtaken by the pleasure starting to bubble up inside you.

“Not so fast,” Joost smirked, the eyeliner around his eyes smudged from repeatedly squeezing his eyes open and shut. He pulled his pants and boxers down. You nodded eagerly; your eyes locked onto his hardened member. You crawled down from the counter, putting your hands on Joost’s shoulder to support your already trembling legs. Kneeling, you took a deep breath and began kissing the tip, tasting the faint saltiness of his precum. Finally, you took him into your mouth, his gaps filling the room and his hands coming up to cradle your head. You began to bob up and down, taking him deeper with every movement, feeling him throb and pulse in your mouth. “Mmmh you take it so good, baby. Take it deeper.”

You looked up at him, the excitement in his eyes obvious, you so fragile beneath him. You felt completely powerless as he took your head and pushed it down, making you gag on his length. Your eyes watered as you struggled not to pull away, your hands gripping his thighs for balance. “Deeper,” he growled, fistfuls of hair in his hands and pushing you down further.

The anger grew, mixing with the pleasure as your throat constricted around him. You didn’t want to like this, didn’t want to be this submissive to him. But your body was betraying you, responding to his dominance in a way that made you feel ashamed.

You tried to protest, but all that came out was a muffled sound against his shaft. Joost just chuckled, his grip on your hair tightening. “You’re so eager,” he said. “So eager to please.”

Your jaw ached by the time he began thrusting into your mouth, his other hand on the back of your head to keep you in place. Tears were beginning to spill out of your eyes, rolling down your cheeks, but you had no possibility to wipe them away. Not with Joost’s firm grip on your head and your hands on the back of his knees for support. Each time he pushed in, your gag reflex kicked in, and each time he pushed harder, his hips snapped against your face.

With a sudden jerk, you pulled away, his grip on your hair slipping. You stood up, panting, glaring at him with wet, angry eyes. "You think you can just use me like this?" you spat.

For a moment, Joost looked surprised, his chest heaving with excitement. Then his smirk returned. "Isn’t that what you want?" he taunted, stroking himself. "To be used, to be filled with cum?"

The words were like a match thrown into a pool of gasoline. Your anger flared, and without thinking, you slapped him hard across the face. The sound reverberated in the small bathroom, echoing off the tiles. Joost’s eyes went wide, his hand flying to his cheek. But the shock quickly gave way to a look of pure lust.

"You like it rough, huh?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire. Slowly, he stood up, placing a haphazard kiss on your lips before he flipped you over, your stomach pressing into the cold porcelain. “I want you to look at yourself while I fuck you senseless, you little slut,” Joost growled, pushing you into the sink by keeping a firm grip around your neck.

You whimpered with anticipation as Joost positioned himself behind you, your hands grasping the edges of the sink to keep your balance. He didn’t bother with any more foreplay; he was too consumed by his own lust. With one swift motion, he entered you, the force making your knees buckle slightly. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunted, his eyes fixated on your reflection in the mirror. He watched as he began to pound into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the bathroom. You could feel his cock stretching you to your limits, the roughness of his movements making you wetter with every thrust.

"You're mine," he snarled, his teeth grazing your ear. "You're going to take every inch of me like the good little whore you are." His words sent a thrill down your spine, and you pushed back against him, meeting his every thrust with a desperate moan.

Your breasts bounced with the force of his movements, and your cheeks were flushed with a mix of arousal and pain. He reached around to squeeze one of your nipples, twisting it just enough to make you gasp. You felt his hand slap against your ass, the sting adding to the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

"Look at yourself," he ordered, his voice rough. You obeyed, looking into the mirror. Your eyes were wide with lust, and your mouth was slightly parted, the sight of your own desperation turning you on even more. You watched as he claimed you, his hips slapping against your ass, your body shaking with every impact.

The pressure built inside you, and you felt your orgasm approaching rapidly. "I'm going to cum," you whined, your voice high with need.

"Cum for me," Joost demanded, his pace increasing. "Cum on my cock, baby."

With a final, brutal thrust, you did just that. Your body convulsed around him, your pussy tightening around his cock as waves of pleasure crashed through you. And then, the words that you hoped would never see the light of day spilled out of you. Just like that. “I love you.”

"Fuck," he groaned, his own release following closely. He pulled out, his cum spurting onto your ass and back. "Look at the mess you made," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. He let go of you, and you slumped forward, gasping for air.

Joost stepped back, his chest heaving, and admired the scene in the mirror. You were an absolute mess, your body glistening with sweat and cum, your makeup smudged, and your hair wild.

"You're so beautiful when you're used up like that," he murmured, running a gentle finger along your spine.

***

Nobody talked when you got redressed. For what it was worth, your tights had remained mostly unharmed. Not like it mattered, though. Not when tomorrow, your whole body will be sore, littered with bruises, and your throat will hurt. “You’re not gonna say anything?”

“What?” He asked, laughing as one hand tightened his belt and the other held a cigarette. “Not the first time I’ve fucked someone this good they thought they were in love with me.”

You scoffed, but decided not to press on it. But it seemed as if your face told everything. Joost crouched down so you were face to face, his thumb softly stroking your cheek. “You don’t love me, okay? That was never part of the plan. So cut it out, please.”

You let him touch your face.

You let him talk to you like that.

Because what other options did you have, having been humiliated like that?

For a second, you didn’t even flinch. Just stared at him, at his fucked-up tenderness, the cruel petting of someone who liked to see the damage he’d done up close.

It wasn’t just your face that betrayed you. It was your silence. The way you didn’t correct him. The way your chest rose too fast, tears forming in your eyes like a kid who’d just had her favorite toy stolen.

He smiled like he won.

So you stood up. Slipped into your top without bothering to fix your smudged makeup, your crooked tights, the bloom of red beginning to form on your collarbone.

You turned toward the door, hand on the knob, then paused.

“Fuck you, Joost.”

And you didn’t look back when you walked out.

But you wished you had. Just to see if he flinched.

But deep inside you knew the answer was no.

***

You: Wanna come over?

You: Please talk to me.

You: Joost. We need to talk.

You: Are you seriously ignoring me?

You: Fuck you.

You: You’re a fucking asshole, Joost.

You’d had your fair share of bad dating experiences. You’d been stood up more often than you could count. You’d been catfished. You’d been mansplained politics. The list goes on.

But never had a bad dating experience made you spend the entire afternoon on your balcony, getting drunk off cheap wine and chain-smoking whatever cigarettes were left in the pack, cursing yourself for not buying more at the corner store.

It had been a week since you and Joost had last spoken. A week since you stopped living.

You used to cringe at couples who said they couldn’t live with or without each other. So why did it feel so true?

Not like you had ever had some sort of claim of ownership over him. It was perhaps naïve of you to assume that this wouldn’t end the way it did. But you had hoped, until the very last minute, that Joost would come around. After all, what is a sex-drunken confession when stacked against a years-long friendship?

You stubbed your cigarette out on the balcony railing. One of a dozen today. The ashtray looked like a graveyard. You were becoming someone you didn’t recognize – bitter, messy, obsessed with Joost’s digital silence like it was gospel.

Then, so silently that you almost thought you’d imagined it, there was a knock at the door.

You didn’t move. Surely, it was just a delivery guy. But you hadn’t eaten in days. Then came another knock, and you knew you had to do something.

So you answered it. And when you opened the door, Joost stood there like it hadn’t been a week. Like he hadn’t been ghosting you.

“Hey,” he said, as if that were enough.

You stepped aside, not because he deserved it, but because you were curious enough to see what he’d do.

He looked around, his gaze fixed on the empty wine bottles littered on the counter. “Shit, you throwing a party or something?”

“Yeah, for finally getting rid of you,” you snarked. “What the hell do you want now?”

He didn’t laugh. He just stood there, hands in his pockets, eyes refusing to meet yours.

“You know, it’s not my fault you fell in love with me.”

You snorted. “Are you done?”

“You’re the one constantly texting me. It was getting on Bet- my nerves,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Wait, who?”

“I said it was getting on my nerves.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pinching the bridge of your nose, in order to stop the tears from streaming down your face. “You’re seeing someone.”

For a moment, the entire apartment was silent. Then, he said, “Yes. Yes I am.”

“Why, Joost?” The sadness had now been replaced by anger. You couldn’t believe he had moved on from you so quickly. “Why her and not me?”

He shifted on his feet like he couldn’t decide whether to run or throw another punch – because that’s what his words had been feeling lately.

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” he said finally. “We weren’t together.”

You let out a laugh. Hollow. Bitter. “Just give me a fucking reason, Joost.”

He stepped forward, but you stepped back instinctively. “Fine? You really wanna know? It’s because you’re a fucking drag, Y/N. I’ve done so much for you and you repay it by being a little bitch about it. Everything’s so much more complicated than it has to with you.”

“Oh, I’m difficult?” You snapped. “You show up here after ignoring me for days, tell me you’re dating someone else and somehow I’m the problem?”

He just shrugged. He fucking shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Unbelievable.”

“You always read into shit too much,” he said, his voice cold. “That’s not on me.”

Your jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “It is on you. You fucked me like you meant it. You held me like I mattered. And the worst part is, I believed it. I believed you.”

Joost looked away, like he couldn’t stand to see you like this. Like seeing you broken was somehow inconveniencing him.

“Betty’s a lot less complicated. You have no one to blame but yourself, Y/N.”

That was it. Your knockout.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. But your entire body felt padded, like somehow this wasn’t happening, because there’s no way the person that was supposed to be your friend was throwing these words at you.

“Get out.”

He hesitated.

“Can we at least still be friends?”

“I said get the fuck out of my apartment, Joost.”

This time, he listened.

***

It’s been months since you’d last talked to Joost. It had been hard – oh, had it been hard. At first, you spent entire days staring at your phone, willing him to text you. You had sent him hundreds of text messages, ranging from threats to pleads, desperate for any kind of reaction from him. But of course he had gone completely radio silent on you.

So here you were, spending your Friday evening at the bar with friends instead of a high-end nightclub with Joost. And maybe you were starting to be okay with that.

And what better soundtrack than Charli XCX when talking shit about your exes with your best friends?

“Oh god, I almost forgot about that guy,” Taya said, kicking her Tabis against the booth table before taking a sip of her espresso martini. “What a total loser.”

“Remember Dave though? The one who made that spreadsheet ranking his exes? Cam jumped in, rolling her eyes. “Men are insane.”

You laughed or at least performed the laugh. It came out brittle, but nobody noticed. The bar was dim, warm with bodies and gin-sweet air.

Ava turned to you. “What about you? Any news about he who cannot be named?”

You shook your head. “Radio silence.”

Ava gave you a knowing nod. You could tell she was happy for you, helping you get through the “break up”. She was happy that you came out alright. But were you?

While the others kept swapping stories about their horror dating stories, you quietly pulled up your text conversation with Joost. Or rather, your monologue. The last message you’d sent to him was a long, raw paragraph about how badly he’d treated you and how you vowed to never let a guy talk to you like this ever again. He’d left you on read, of course, but not without speech bubbles appearing and disappearing again. As pathetic as it sounded, you found some solace in the fact that he at least had a decency to listen when you poured your heart out.

You put your phone away again, half-heartedly nursing your pornstar martini while listening to your friends’ conversation you had disengaged from.

And then your phone suddenly vibrated. You looked at the screen as if it had grown fangs. Joost’s name had appeared.

You didn’t open it. Couldn’t open it. For a second, the noise of the bar dropped out. The music, the clink of glasses, even your friend’s voice became muffled as your brain began to catch up on what happened.

Ava laughed at something Cam said. Taya tapped the rim of her glass like she was counting down seconds.

You stood up.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” you said to no one in particular, and slipped away before anyone could ask questions. Before Ava could stop you.

Once inside, you leaned against the sink, examining the dark circles under your eyes. You were puffing as if you’d run a marathon. Your hair stuck to your sweaty forehead. What did he want? Did he suddenly come around? Did you want him to?

You locked the stall behind you, sat down and finally dared to look at the notification.

Joost: Hey

Joost: Can we talk?

That was all. Just that. But your stomach turned over anyway.

You stared at the screen for what felt like an hour, reading and rereading that text in case your mind had decided to play a sick game. But there it was, white on black. Joost wanted to see you.

You hovered your thumb on the keyboard. Then you locked your phone. Unlocked it. Locked it again.

You wanted to tell him to get lost. That he had no right to show up again after ghosting you when you needed him the most.

“Y/N?” A voice suddenly inquired. It was Ava. Of course it was her.

“Be out in a minute,” you answered, trying your best to keep your voice steady.

When you unlocked the door, Ava stood there, a blank expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I think I gotta go,” you stuttered, not bothering to make up an excuse for suddenly vanishing from the booth.

It was no use anyway, because Ava knew what was going on. “It’s Joost, isn’t it?”

There was an unreadable expression on her face. Something like understanding, or scolding, or just the quiet disappointment of someone who’d seen this story play out before and hated knowing how it would end.

“I’m not gonna tell you not to do it because I know you wouldn’t listen,” she sighed, folding her arms over her chest. “Just be careful, okay?”

You nodded, rooted to the spot. “Thanks for understanding.”

Then, he texted again.

Joost: Can I come over?

And this time, you didn’t overthink it. You just replied: Be there in 5.

You barely remembered saying goodbye to your friends. You barely remembered the walk home, hands in fists inside your leather jacket to stop the trembling. But when you finally got to your apartment and found Joost leaning against the door, you knew he had it worse than you. He gave you a look that was almost sheepish, almost apologetic, but neither of the two in the end.

“You look good,” he said.

“You look like shit,” you replied, fishing the keys out of your bag and opening the door, kicking your shoes off next to it.

He chuckled softly, stepping inside like he belonged there, like he hadn’t vanished off the face of the Earth for months. The door shut behind him with a soft click, and suddenly the room felt smaller. Warmer.

You didn’t ask why he came. You couldn’t bare to hear her name. Besides, you knew what he was here for, didn’t you? Instead, you poured a glass of wine for the both of you.

For a while, you just stood there, sipping your drinks. Joost studied the posters in your living room, pretending like he’d never been to your place before.

“I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

You crossed your arms, the ache in your chest getting harder to ignore. “Well that’s a first.”

“Me and Betty broke up. Funnily enough she said the same thing to me that I’d said to you all these months ago.”

“Serves you right.”

He flinched. “I know.”

“Why are you here?”

“I didn’t know where else to go. And I miss you.”

“Bullshit,” you spat. “You miss how convenient I was. One whistle from you and I was there. Like a fucking lap dog. But you don’t miss me.”

He looked away, like a kid caught doing something it was not supposed to be doing. “Why did you invite me here then?”

You exhaled sharply. “Because no matter what I do, I just can’t seem to quit you. I’m addicted to you as if you were coke.”

And before you could overthink it, you kissed him – slow, like you needed to taste the damage again, just to remind yourself why it hurt so much to begin with.

Joost kissed you back, but not with the same urgency. Like he was waiting to get it over with so he could fuck you. Now he took his time. Like he was making up for lost time.

Joost’s kiss grew deeper, his hands reaching up to cup your face. Your hands explored his body as if you were a sculptor rediscovering your favorite piece of art, before your fingers settled on his shirt, pulling it swiftly over his head. The moment the fabric gave way, your hands roamed over his bare skin, feeling the warmth of his chest. He groaned into the kiss, his tongue dancing with you in a rhythm that was both familiar and exhilarating. He pressed you harder against himself, and you felt the unmistakable hardness of his arousal through your thin dress.

Breaking the kiss, he took a closer look at you. His breath was hot, sending shivers down your spine as his hands traced the curve of your waist. His hands moved up, undoing your blouse button by button, all the while wearing the expression you swore would make you go insane one day. The blouse fell to the floor, Joost attacked your chest with kisses all the while his hands worked to unclasp your bra. He leaned down to kiss your chest, his teeth grazing your skin gently, making you gasp. With your hands around his neck, he continued to litter your skin with little kisses.

You felt a rush of excitement and anticipation as Joost’s hands moved deftly to unbutton your pants. His eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze only growing stronger with each piece of clothing that fell away. He took a moment to appreciate the sight of you, his hands ghosting over your hips before hooking his fingers into the delicate lace.

“Joost, wait,” you breathed, a confused look on Joost’s face. “Take me to bed.”

Joost scooped you up, carrying you over to the bedroom and gently placing you down on the bed. Joost hovered over you, hands placed on either side of your head as he began kissing you again, starting from your lips and making his way down to your collarbones. Down to your neck. Lower. Down to your breasts, your stomach and eventually settling on the inside of your thighs. Your panties were off in a swift motion, slick with your lust. It was embarrassing how wet you were already, but you couldn’t help yourself. Not when Joost was worshipping your body like this. His kisses grew more urgent, his hands more insistent as they roamed over your sensitive skin.

Joost’s touch was like fire, burning away any shyness or hesitation you might have had. His hands moved down to your hips, gripping them tightly as he buried his face between your thighs, his tongue darting out to taste you. You felt his hot breath against your slick folds before his mouth closed over your clit, sucking gently. His teeth grazed against your g-spot, sending waves of pleasure crashing through your body. It was like he knew your body better than you.

You threaded your fingers through his hair, holding him in place as he devoured you. Your moans grew louder, more desperate as Joost worked his magic, alternating between licking and blowing on the sensitive area, which drove you crazy. You were close, so close to the edge, and he knew it.

“Come for me, liefje,” he moaned against your clit, the vibration of his voice sending jolts of pleasure through your body. And so you released the pressure bubbling up in your stomach, coming all over Joost’s face. “Good girl.”

With a final lingering kiss for good measure, Joost stood up, his own arousal evident in the bulge straining against his hard cock. He stripped off the rest of his clothes, before positioning himself between your legs. That’s when you gripped his shoulders, attempting to flip him on his back and repaying him with this incomparable feeling. But he just kissed you, his lips slick with your cum. “No, tonight is about you,” he whispered.

He was so focused on you as he moved up to your breasts to kiss them. It made you feel desired. Almost loved.

You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh as he hovered over you, his eyes full of lust and something else – something deeper that you didn’t dare name. And then he kissed you again, slower this time, like there was no rush in the world. Like he was going to take your sweet time with you.

“Mmmm need you, Joost,” you mumbled against his lips.

“So needy,” he chuckled silently as he positioned himself at your entrance, his lips never disconnecting from yours.

You gasped, feeling yourself stretching to accommodate his size. It had been too long since you’d felt this full, this alive. And he took his time with you alright, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, wanting you to feel all of him. You wrapped your legs around his hips as his thrusts became more quick, more urgent, as he claimed you once again. “God, I’ve missed this.”

You moaned in response, your hips rising to meet his, nails digging into his back. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your gasps and his groans. Joost’s hands wandered over your body, caressing and teasing every inch of you. He found your clit again and began to rub it in slow circles, matching the tempo of his thrusts. You moaned at the overstimulation, almost becoming unbearable.

“Joost, I-“ you groaned.

“I know, liefje. Hold on for me.”

Suddenly, with a wicked grin, Joost reached down and flipped you onto your stomach. He kissed down your spine, leaving a trail of fire behind his lips. He took a moment to appreciate the view of your round ass in the air before spreading your legs wide. He grabbed your hips and slammed into you from behind, the sudden change in position making you cry out. You felt so exposed, so vulnerable, but in the best way possible.

Joost’s hand reached to cup your breasts, playing with your nipples as his tempo grew more quicker, more urgent. Each thrust sent shockwaves through your spine, making you arch your back and push your ass out further for more. He was relentless, his cock pounding into you like he owned you, like he had every right in the world to take what he wanted.

“You’re so tight, baby. So wet for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. His words only spurred you on, making you want to come even more.

You reached back, trying to touch him, to feel him, but he took your wrists and pinned them above your head. “Let me do all the work tonight,” he said, voice low.

You felt his hand move down to your clit again, his fingers circling it, applying just the right amount of pressure. The sensation was almost too much, but you didn’t want it to stop. You needed this, needed him to push you over the edge again.

“Please, Joost, I need to come,” you begged, your voice strained with need.

“Not yet, liefje. I’m not done with you yet.”

The suspense built as Joost’s grip tightened around your wrists, his rhythm becoming more erratic, his breathing more ragged. He was so close, you could feel his whole body tense with the effort of holding back. You bit your lips to stifle your own moans, feeling the tension coil tighter within you.

He leaned down, his hot breath against your neck as he whispered, “You want to come, don’t you? You want to feel me fill you up?”

You nodded frantically, your body begging for release, but he only chuckled darkly and squeezed your breasts harder. “Not yet,” he said again, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

He withdrew almost completely, the head of his cock teasing your entrance before slamming back in, making you gasp. You felt your orgasm building, a pressure so intense it’s almost painful. Your body started to quiver uncontrollably, the beginnings of your climax rushing through you.

Joost’s strokes became shorter, more deliberate, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. You knew he was close too, his breathing erratic and his hips jerking against you. You could feel him swell inside of you, and it took all of your strength to hold on.

“Now, schat, come now,” he commanded, his voice strained with his own need.

You obeyed, your body shattering around him as you came harder than you ever have before. Your muscles clenched around his cock, and he groaned, his own climax following immediately after. He filled you with his warmth, collapsing on top of you as the aftershocks of pleasure continued to pulse through your veins.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room were your panting and his harsh breaths. Neither of you dared to move as you concentrated on your breathing. Then, when your vision came back, you turned around, his head on your stomach. You stroked his hair, him keeping his eyes closed as you hummed contently.

You traced your fingers along the curve of his ear, then down the side of his neck, the way you used to. He didn’t flinch. He just let you touch him like nothing had changed, like the silence and the months and the other girl hadn’t happened. Like he had never stayed gone long enough for you to miss him. But you had missed him, so much.

He opened his eyes slowly, lifting his head to look at you. “God, you’re driving me crazy,” he huffed, almost like he was blaming you for it.

You laughed, but there was no joy in it. “Yeah,” was all you managed to get out as you continued to stroke along the sides of his face, scratching the space as if he were a puppy you’d gotten for Christmas. He closed his eyes again, savoring the feeling of his hands on your skin. “So what now?”

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, and your face fell. Just like that, the illusion cracked. “Let’s see each other again. See how it goes, okay?”

His voice was quiet. Measured. Like he was offering you a favor instead of pulling you back into the same trap.

You stared at the ceiling. Your chest ached in that dull, familiar way. You were so tired. Tired of being the one who stayed. Tired of being the girl he came back to when the others didn’t work out. Tired of convincing yourself that maybe this time he meant it.