luka

The Hawkins High gymnasium’s smell was awful. It smelled like a lethal mix of floor wax, sweat, stale popcorn, and enough Axe body spray to tear a new hole in the ozone layer. It was the night of the Senior Championship game—or in other words, the holy grail of high school social hierarchy—and the noise was absolutely deafening.

Mike Wheeler sat sandwiched between Will Byers and a very aggressive tuba player from the marching band, his knees pressing uncomfortably into the back of a freshman. He looked miserable. He felt like he was vibrating out of his skin. He wanted to punch someone.

"Statistically speaking," Dustin shouted over the thumping bass of We Will Rock You, spraying pretzel crumbs onto Lucas's shoulder, "this is a gross misappropriation of our time! Our teams’ defensive line has the structural integrity of a wet napkin. We could be running the Vecna's Revenge campaign right now. I had the map ready! But instead, we are watching grown men chase a ball."

"It's our last semester, Henderson!" Lucas yelled back, wiping pretzel dust off his jacket. He was wearing face paint that was already sweating off in the humidity. "It's called social integration. Try it sometime! We're seniors! For fuck’s sake!"

"I am well integrated!" Dustin gestured wildly to his Hellfire Club t-shirt. "I am a leader of men! I just don't see the appeal of—"

Will nudged Mike hard in the ribs. "You okay? You look like you're going to throw up."

Mike was staring fixedly at the sidelines, his face pale, gripping his knees so hard his knuckles were white. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. "I'm fine, Will.” he squeaked. His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. "I'm great. Go Tigers. Yay sports."

Nobody knew.

It was the absurdity of the century. It was a glitch in the matrix. It was the best-kept secret in a town famous for government conspiracies and horrendous interdimensional monsters.

The secret had a name, and that name was Y/N, his sweet little girlfriend. 

It had started back in October, senior fall, on a rainy Tuesday that smelled of damp leaves and ozone. The AV Club room was Mike's sanctuary, the one place he could escape the pressures of senior year. He had been alone that afternoon, covered in black toner, cursing creatively at the large-format poster printer which had decided to jam for the third time that week.

He heard the door creak open. He expected Mr. Clarke. He expected Dustin.

He did not expect the Captain of the Hawkins High Cheer Squad.

Y/N had walked in, closing the door softly behind her. She wasn't wearing her uniform; she was in a soft, oversized cashmere sweater and jeans, looking like she had just stepped out of a catalog. Mike froze, his hands stained with ink, waiting for the usual mockery. He waited for her to ask where the "cool people" were, or to make fun of his D&D shirt.

Instead, she looked around the messy room with a sigh of relief. "Is it quiet in here?" she asked, her voice soft. "The library is full of freshmen."

"Uh," Mike had managed, eloquent as ever. "Yeah. Usually."

She held up a leather-bound notebook. "I just need somewhere to write. Journaling. I can’t do it with people behaving like animals."

She didn't leave. She sat on a desk, legs swinging, and watched him fight the printer. And then, shockingly, she helped. She rolled up her expensive sleeves, got ink on her perfect hands, and helped him dislodge the paper tray.

They spent three hours talking. And not the superficial stuff Mike expected. They talked about fears. About the crushing pressure of perfection. About how they both secretly thought Return of the Jedi was the weakest of the trilogy. Mike was a rambling, nervous mess, his hands shaking every time she looked at him with those big, intelligent eyes, but she just laughed—an overly warm, genuine sound that made his chest ache.

By the end of the day, the tension in the room was thick enough to choke on. The rain was hammering against the windows, sealing them in their own little world. Mike had been staring at her lips, paralyzed by his own insecurity, convinced he was misreading the signals. Because girls like Y/N didn't look at guys like Mike Wheeler. Not like that.

"You're going to pass out if you don't kiss me, Wheeler," she had whispered, leaning in close enough for him to smell her sweet, edible vanilla perfume.

Mike had stopped breathing. "I just... I didn't think..."

"Shut up," she had smiled.

She grabbed him by his shirt, yanked him down, and planted a kiss on him that effectively rebooted his operating system. It was soft at first, then hungry, and Mike had realized with a jolt that the coolest girl in school was actually trembling just as much as he was.

Now, six months later, they were keeping it secret. Mike insisted on it. He told himself it was to protect her.. Well, obviously, dating a very active member of the Hellfire Club wasn't exactly a status booster for a cheer captain. He didn't want to be the anchor that dragged her down the social ladder.

But tonight? Tonight, Y/N had other plans.

"I'm doing a toe-touch jump right at the 50-yard line," she had told him last night, her voice husky over the phone as he lay in bed staring at his ceiling. "And if you aren't there to see it, I'm, so seriously, breaking up with you. I'm tired of hiding, Mike. I want to show you off."

Show me off, Mike thought, feeling dizzy. She's fucking insane.

Back in the gym, the buzzer sounded for halftime. The lights dimmed, and the spotlight hit center court.

"Oh, look," Dustin groaned, rolling his eyes so hard it looked painful. "Pompoms. My favorite part of the evening. Wake me when the game starts again."

"Shut up, Henderson," Mike snapped, instantly alert. He sat up straighter, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

The music kicked in, something rhythmic and loud, vibrating through the bleachers. The squad moved in perfect synchronization, a sea of green and gold pleats and white sneakers. And there she was.

Y/N.

She was absolutely mesmerizing, as always, Mike thought. She flew through the air in a basket toss, soaring higher than anyone else, her ponytail whipping like a lash, her smile dazzling enough to blind the front row. She hit every beat with a sharpness that commanded attention. She looked powerful, beautiful, and completely, utterly out of his league.

Mike felt a surge of pride so intense it nearly choked him. That's my girl, he thought. His and only his. The words felt reckless and golden in his head. The girl everyone is staring at? She kisses me. She likes my nerdy ass rants. 

The routine ended in a pyramid formation. Y/N was at the very top, arms raised in a V, chest heaving, glitter catching the overhead lights. The crowd went feral. 

But Y/N didn't look at the crowd. She didn't look at the judges.

She turned her head and locked eyes with the specific section of the bleachers where the band geeks and the Hellfire Club sat.

She found Mike. Even from this distance, he felt the weight of her gaze. It was a look of pure, terrifying possession. A smile curled the corner of her lips; soft, intimate, and knowing.

Then, slowly, deliberately, she raised two fingers to her glittery lips and blew a kiss.

It was a direct hit.

The bleachers around them erupted in confusion.

"DID YOU SEE THAT?!" Lucas grabbed Dustin's arm, nearly dislocating it. "She looked right at me! Y/N just blew a kiss at me!"

"You're hallucinating, Sinclair!" Dustin scoffed, frantically smoothing his curly hair under his hat. "She was looking at the hat. Chicks dig the trucker hat energy. That was clearly for me! It was a signal!"

"In your dreams! Why would SHE blow a kiss at you?"

"Why would SHE blow a kiss at YOU!? You're wearing face paint like a damn toddler!"

"Guys," Will started, looking at Mike. "I think—"

But Mike didn't say a word. He couldn't. His face was burning so hot he thought he might spontaneously combust. He stood up abruptly, his metal chair clattering back loudly. He looked like he'd just seen a ghost, or maybe God.

"I have to go," Mike choked out. "Stomach. Bad pretzel. Need air."

He bolted before they could ask questions, scrambling down the bleachers, tripping over people's feet, fleeing the scene like a criminal.

Twenty minutes later, the game was dragging into the third quarter. The crowd was roaring, but the party was distracted.

"He's been gone a while," Will frowned, looking at the empty seat next to him.

"He's probably crying in the car because the noise was too loud," Lucas rolled his eyes, though he looked concerned. "Or he went to 7-Eleven for a slushie and didn't invite us."

"Let's go get him," Dustin decided, standing up. "This game is a blowout anyway, and I refuse to watch the Tigers lose by thirty points. Let's go."

The three boys trudged out into the cool night air, leaving the roaring, sweaty gym behind. The parking lot was a sea of metal, quiet and still under the buzzing streetlights. The distant sound of the announcer echoed eerily.

"There's his car," Dustin pointed to Mike's beat-up, beige sedan parked way in the back, under the shadow of a large oak tree. "I bet he's asleep. Grandpa Wheeler strikes again. Probably taking a nap."

As they got closer, weaving through the rows of trucks and vans, Lucas slowed down. He squinted.

"Hey... is it just me, or are the windows... wet?"

The car windows weren't just wet. They were opaque. Completely fogged up with heavy condensation, obscuring everything inside like that one scene from Titanic.

"Weird," Will murmured. "It's not that cold out."

Dustin marched up to the driver's side, a mischievous grin on his face. "Watch this. I'm gonna scare the soul out of his body." He raised his fist to bang on the glass.

Then, through a small clear streak in the condensation, his eyes adjusted to the interior.

Dustin's hand froze in mid-air. His mouth dropped open so wide a damn demogorgon could have crawled in and set up camp.

Inside the car, illuminated only by the warm, amber glow of the dashboard lights, was a scene that defied every law of the high school social universe.

Mike's seat was pushed all the way back. And Mike wasn't sleeping.

He was buried.

Y/N was straddling his lap, facing him. Her green and gold cheer skirt was hiked dangerously high, gathered at her waist, the pleats fanning out over Mike's denim-clad legs. Resting on the dashboard, next to a half-empty bottle of water, was a massive, expensive-looking bouquet of red roses with a card that screamed CONGRATS, LOVE <3 in bold marker.

But nobody was looking at the flowers.

Mike Wheeler, the lanky nerd who argued about dice rolls and refused to dance at prom, had his head thrown back against the headrest, his mouth devouring hers.

It wasn't a polite high school peck. It was feral.

Y/N had her arms wrapped tight around his neck, her fingers tangled deep in Mike's messy black curls, holding him in place as she ground her hips down into his lap. And Mike... Mike looked like a man starving. His hands were gripping her waist with a desperation that turned his knuckles white, his long fingers digging into the bare, soft skin of her thighs just below the hem of her skirt.

Y/N broke the kiss for a split second to gasp for air, a string of saliva connecting their lips, and Mike chased her immediately. He didn't let her pull away. He groaned something against her throat, a low, vibrating sound that was audible even through the glass, and buried his face in her neck.

He kissed the sensitive cord of her throat, open-mouthed and wet, his hand sliding up from her waist to palm the curve of her hip possessively, dragging her closer until there was zero space between them.

She whimpered, her head falling back, exposing her throat to him. She grabbed the collar of his Hellfire Club t-shirt, yanking on the fabric so hard the neck stretched. She bit his lower lip, hard, pulling it between her teeth, and Mike surged up to meet her, his other hand tangling in the back of her cheer uniform.

It was messy. It was frantic. It was the hottest thing any of them had ever seen, and it involved.. Mike. Jesus Christ! The Mike Wheeler. 

Lucas looked like he had been slapped in the face with a wet fish. Will looked like he wanted to dissolve into the pavement.

Dustin just stood there, his brain unable to process the data. Mike? With Y/N? Making out like they were trying to invent a new form of fusion energy?

The cognitive dissonance was too much.

Inside the car, Y/N shifted her weight, pressing down harder into Mike's lap, arching her back. Mike let out a rough sound and moved his hand higher, his thumb grazing the skin of her inner thigh, his face flushed, eyes squeezed shut in pure, agonizing bliss. He looked powerful. He looked like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Dustin couldn't take it anymore. The universe was collapsing.

He didn't tap politely. He banged on the window with the force of a SWAT team.

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

The reaction inside was explosive.

Y/N shrieked, a high-pitched sound of terror, scrambling backward and hitting her head on the rearview mirror. Mike practically jumped out of his skin, his limbs flailing as he tried to cover Y/N and locate his own dignity at the same time. His elbow hit the dome light, flooding the car with unforgiving brightness.

Mike whipped his head toward the window.

He looked wrecked. His black hair was standing up in every direction. His lips were swollen, red, and slick. His t-shirt was twisted. And on his neck, blooming in vibrant high-definition, was a fresh, purple hickey right above his collarbone.

He looked at Dustin with eyes the size of dinner plate; terror, shame, and fury all mixing together.

Dustin stood there, illuminated by the sudden flash of the interior light. He looked at the disheveled cheerleader trying to smooth her skirt down over her hips. He looked at the giant bouquet of love roses. He looked at Mike, whose hand was still instinctively resting on the thigh of the most popular girl in school.

Dustin threw his hands up, gesturing to the entire tableau, his voice rising to a screech that echoed across the parking lot.

HE CAN’T BELIEVE IT.

you. the cheerleader. the one with perfect hair and perfect smile and the routines that could hypnotize the entire bleachers into thinking you were actually the school itself. now you’re his. like, his, as in mike wheeler, freak, misfit, technically one of the people who used to roll eyes at the pep rallies and the drumline and the marching band nonsense. now he’s obsessed.

he used to think all uniforms were evil. a straight-up conspiracy. cheerleaders were propaganda. the school was propaganda. the football team, the band, the posters about “school spirit” plastered on every hallway wall were lies. liars. liars in polyester. liars in short skirts and high socks. then you happened, and now he actually kind of likes the uniform. not the uniform itself, that’s still awful fabric and itchy and weirdly hot, but you in the uniform. the way you wear it, like it’s just part of your body and your whole energy and he’s allowed to touch it sometimes, sometimes just a brush of fingers over your shoulder or the waistband when you’re adjusting your skirt, and it’s fine. it’s fine. it’s fine.

he dated a superhero once and somehow this is still the coolest thing that’s ever happened to him, which feels wrong, like he should be struck by lightning for even thinking it. but here he is, walking you to class everyday while people stare like he’s smuggled a priceless artifact out of a museum in his backpack.

he’s painfully aware of his posture now. his hair. his clothes. he owns the same jacket he’s had since eighth grade and suddenly he’s wondering if it looks stupid. he used to pride himself on not caring. caring was for people who peaked in high school. now he cares. a lot. he asked his mom how to “get lint off clothes without a roller” last night. humiliating. truly. she’d looked at him over her coffee mug like she was trying to decide whether to laugh or ask follow-up questions and he’d immediately backtracked, said it was for dustin, which made it worse, because now his mother thinks dustin henderson is the kind of boy who sheds.

the point is: he was on guard. aggressively so.

the thing people get wrong is assuming this means he’s changed his mind, like dating you rewired him. like he suddenly believes in school spirit and authority and the basic goodness of institutions. absolutely not. mike wheeler remains deeply suspicious of anything with a uniform. cheerleaders. cops. government guys in windbreakers. anyone who looks like they got issued an outfit and a script and told to smile while enforcing rules. uniforms mean control. propaganda. lies. he learned that at twelve, and nothing since has convinced him otherwise.

he still hates pep rallies. still thinks the football team is a cult. still rolls his eyes at the posters about pride and tradition and excellence, because excellence according to who, exactly. he doesn’t trust cops because he’s seen how useless they are. doesn’t trust the government because, well, obviously. doesn’t trust authority because authority has consistently proven it does not deserve trust.

you are the exception. the single glaring outlier in an otherwise airtight worldview.

it annoys him a little. not you but the fact that his brain short-circuits when you walk past in that uniform, because the uniform is still stupid. aggressive school branding. objectively evil. mike hates that his cynicism takes a knee when he sees you in your uniform. hates that he thinks, unironically, wow. he rationalizes it. you’re not the uniform, you’re talented. terrifyingly good at what you do. the uniform is just packaging. misleading packaging, like a government agency with a friendly name. except in this case, the product is actually good. exceptional, even. infuriatingly so.

the first time you hung out alone after that day you first spoke, actually alone, not in a hallway or a parking lot or with other people around, you sat on opposite ends of the couch like there was a line of tape down the middle. mike kept his hands folded in his lap, folded, like he was waiting for a principal to come in and accuse him of something. he nodded too much. made sure his knees didn’t touch yours. he kept thinking: this is a prank. this is social experimentation. any minute now, someone is going to burst in and point and laugh and tell him he failed. he was painfully polite. doors held open from an unnecessarily far distance, offering you the better seat, asking before he did literally anything. “is this okay?” “do you mind if i—?” “sorry.” constantly sorry. you could’ve told him the couch was on fire and he would’ve apologized for being in the way.

part of it was you. part of it was that you were a cheerleader, capital c, capital everything that had always stood for danger in his head. you were popular. mike had always assumed people like you had an agenda. he kept waiting for the angle. the moment where you’d reveal that you were bored, or slumming it, or proving a point to someone else. so he kept distance. literal, measurable distance. at one point he was sitting so far away from you that you asked if he needed more room, and he almost short-circuited trying to explain that no, he was fine, he just didn’t want to be weird, which somehow came out sounding ten times weirder.

but then you kept… not doing anything.

you didn’t make fun of him. you didn’t push. you didn’t even comment on how stiff he was being, which in retrospect was kind of saintly of you. you just talked. about practice. about how exhausting it is to be “on” all the time. about how people think cheerleading is easy, or dumb, or automatic, when actually it hurts and takes work and focus and discipline. mike listened, and slowly, against his will, his brain started filing you under new categories. not propaganda. not enemy. not threat. just… person.

the second time you hung out he relaxed maybe five percent. enough that his shoulders dropped. enough that he stopped monitoring every inch of space between you. he still didn’t touch you, but he stopped flinching when you shifted closer.

by the third time, the distance was gone. you sat close. your leg pressed against his. he noticed the way you tuck your feet under you when you’re comfortable, the way you lean in when you’re interested, the way your voice drops when you’re being honest. he realized, dimly, that if this was a trick, it was a bad one. too much effort. too much sincerity. too many small, unguarded moments.

the kiss happened fast. embarrassingly fast, considering how cautious he’d been. not even a full week of hanging out. you were laughing about something stupid—he can’t even remember what—and then you weren’t laughing anymore, and then you were very close, and then there was no distance left to manage. he froze for exactly half a second. old instincts screaming, cheerleaders are evil. this is a mistake. but then you kissed him anyway, and his brain just gave up. after that everything flipped.

the guard vanished. the over-politeness evaporated. it was like once he knew you were real he stopped holding himself back at all. suddenly he was everywhere, leaning into you, sitting too close, walking you to class and then walking you to your next class too, even when it made him late. you started showing up at his house and he’d forget to pretend to be normal, just drag you straight to his room and flop onto the bed like this was the most natural thing in the world.

when you two started dating it was as if someone reached into his chest and flipped a switch labeled self-control straight to off. suddenly there’s no mental checklist. no measuring inches of space. he just exists next to you, with you. his arm slung around your shoulders like it’s been there forever. your legs tangled with his under tables. your backpack hooked over his chair because you forgot it and now it’s his problem, which he takes very seriously, and people notice immediately.

hawkins high is not subtle. hawkins high is a hive mind with lockers. the first time you walk in together, actually together, fingers linked, no plausible deniability, heads turn. whispers start before second period. by lunch it’s a full-blown phenomenon, because, objectively, this makes no sense.

he knows what they see when they look at him. skinny. perpetually unimpressed. almost always wearing the same shirt. hellfire club. d&d kid. mouthy. intense. not exactly… aspirational. he’s not bullied, not really—not anymore—but he’s filed away under background character by most of the school. tolerated, ignored, occasionally mocked if someone’s feeling brave.

then there’s you.

you, who people know. you, who gets waved at from across the cafeteria. you, who teachers smile at automatically. you, who looks like you belong on the glossy posters mike has been hating since freshman year. you, walking next to him like this is normal.

people stare like they’re trying to spot the hidden camera. he hears things. not clearly, but enough. “is that—?” “no way.” “didn’t he used to—?” “what?”

someone actually laughs once when you sit down with him at lunch. mike considers flipping them off. he doesn’t, because you squeeze his knee under the table, grounding him, and suddenly the rest of the cafeteria feels very far away.

you’re the coolest person he’s ever met. full stop. smarter than people give you credit for. tougher than you look. talented in a way that actually takes work, not just applause. he’s seen you practice. seen the focus, the discipline. it blows his mind that people reduce you to smiles and skirts. he wants to tell everyone. wants to correct them. wants to say actually, she hates calculus. actually, she’s really funny. actually, she listens to weird music and has strong opinions about movies and gets this crease between her eyebrows when she’s concentrating.

mostly, he wants them to know you chose him. not as a joke. not as a phase. not because you lost a bet.

so mike wheeler, resident cynic, former cheerleader-hater, survivor of interdimensional hellscapes, is walking around life like he’s won something. like the upside down can do whatever it wants, vecna can haunt whoever he likes, hawkins can keep being awful and small and loud —- but mike has a hot, popular, terrifyingly cool cheerleader girlfriend who sits in his lap sometimes, kisses him, and looks at him like he’s not a loser at all. and honestly?

nothing’s topping that.

and it shows, unfortunately. constantly. mike is not subtle about it. he used to think he was, which in hindsight is hilarious. now he doesn’t even pretend. he trails you like a loyal guard dog with a resting bitch face. he waits outside practice, sits on cold bleachers with his jacket zipped all the way up, pretending not to watch even though he knows your routine by heart now.

he talks about you. a lot.

not in a bragging way, he tells himself (its definitely in a bragging way). just… observational. did you know how hard cheerleading actually is? did you know practice is canceled this week? did you know she can do this thing where she lands perfectly every time? it’s important information. the party disagrees. dustin starts making noises every time mike brings you up. exaggerated sighs. fake gagging. lucas just raises an eyebrow and says “we get it, man.” max tells him he’s being insufferable, which mike pretends to take as a compliment. will listens, but mike catches him smiling sometimes, fond and a little sad, like he recognizes the shape of this happiness even if it’s not his.

mike doesn’t care. again. this keeps happening.

he’s too busy collecting memories with you. little things. stupid things. hes had years to make some with his dumb friends, now it’s time to hang out with his hot girlfriend, duh. the way you steal his fries even when you say you’re not hungry. the way you sit on the kitchen counter at his house. the way you laugh into his shoulder when he says something dry and mean about school, like you’re in on the joke now. he remembers the first football game you dragged him to. how he stood there, arms crossed, scowling out of principle, until you grabbed his hand and pulled him closer, shouting something supportive that made no sense to him but clearly meant everything to you. he remembers thinking that if anyone else had tried this, he would’ve hated it. with you it felt like visiting a foreign country and deciding, reluctantly, that it wasn’t so bad.

his friends are annoyed because he’s never around anymore. or when he is, he’s distracted. checking the time, wondering if you’re done with practice yet, offering to leave early so he can walk you home. and yeah, maybe that’s unhealthy. maybe that’s too much. mike would’ve had opinions about it once. now he just shrugs. he’s survived worse obsessions. if this is what he gets—this warm pull toward someone brilliant and popular and slightly intimidating—he’s not giving it up. whatever. let them be annoyed. let them stare. let the world keep being awful.

he’s got you.

which is how he ends up standing on your porch on a thursday night with his backpack slung over one shoulder like an idiot, shifting his weight from foot to foot and staring at your front door. he’s early. obviously. he’s always early now. he told himself he’d aim for on time, which in mike-wheeler-logic means arriving seven minutes ahead and pretending that was accidental. he rang the doorbell once already and immediately regretted it, because now he’s worried it was too eager, but also worried that if he hadn’t rung it you might think he forgot, which would be worse. so now he’s just waiting. listening. trying not to look like a stalker.

the tutoring thing was his idea. sort of. you’d mentioned, offhand, casual, not a big deal, that you were struggling in one of your classes. math, maybe. or chemistry. something with numbers. you’d said you might ask around, or that your parents would probably just hire someone, and mike’s brain had immediately short-circuited.

absolutely not.

he didn’t say it like that. he said it like, “i mean, i could help. if you want.” which was a lie, because it wasn’t optional in his head. he was already imagining some random senior with a superiority complex explaining things wrong to you. or one of your many friends leaning too close over a textbook. unacceptable. mike is smart. mike knows how to explain things. mike is already here most of the time anyway.

yeah, you could’ve asked anyone. you know everyone. you could’ve snapped your fingers and had three volunteers, plus a backup. or your parents could’ve paid some grad student to come over with flashcards and a fake smile. but you said okay to him. you smiled and said, “really? that’d be amazing!” like it wasn’t obvious he’d do literally anything you asked.

so here he is. on your porch. with notes. he actually made notes. like a nerd.

he blew off the party for this. didn’t even feel bad. dustin had complained, lucas had given him a look, will had hesitated like he wanted to say something and then didn’t. mike had already been halfway out the door. priorities have shifted. this is not a discussion. he checks his watch then immediately regrets it because now he feels impatient, which is stupid. you didn’t do anything wrong. you’re probably just upstairs. changing. doing whatever cool, popular, cheerleader things you do before hanging out with him.

it still feels surreal. that he’s here because you need help. that you trust him with something that matters. that you want him around when you’re stressed, not just when things are fun. he likes that part more than he expected, feeling useful. chosen for something. he shifts again, glances down at his shoes, wonders if they look dumb on your porch specifically. finally the door opens and there you are. whatever irritation he was carrying—about school, about hawkins, about the party, about standing outside like an idiot—just drains out of him. instantly. you smell good. you always do. “hey, you.” you greet, smiling like you’re actually happy to see him.

mike feels stupidly victorious.

he steps inside and drops his bag by the wall without asking, not rude, just familiar, clocking the driveway on the way in, the absence of cars registering immediately. your parents are probably not home. or not yet. the house feels quieter because of it. he says, “i brought notes.” a little too fast, like he needs to justify his existence here beyond wanting to see you. the backpack on the floor might as well be proof of good intentions.

you laugh softly and tell him to come in all the way, and he follows you into the kitchen, where you automatically grab him a glass of water without asking. you always do. he drinks it like he’s parched, because he is, because he walked here thinking too hard. you ask if he wants to head upstairs, and he nods, already moving, already halfway there. he’s been in your room enough times now that the stairs don’t feel intimidating. still, there’s this thrill every time.

your room is big. mike had noticed that on the first visit and never quite gotten over it. high ceilings, soft lighting, posters on the walls, music, movies, things that feel like you instead of decoration. your trophies are lined up on a shelf, not front and center, like they’re not the point. your bed is enormous, covered in blankets and pillows that look like they belong in a catalog. everything smells like you. it’s girly. unapologetically. pinks and creams and soft textures and things that mike would’ve once dismissed as frivolous. now he just thinks it’s comfortable. safe. this room is where he comes to be himself. he doesn’t even hesitate, just flops down on your bed on his back, arms out, staring at the ceiling like he’s earned this. this is his reward for surviving the day. the mattress swallows him a little, and he exhales, long and deep, the tension finally draining out of his shoulders.

he could stay like this forever. flat on his back staring at your ceiling. not thinking. which is, statistically, rare for him. you sit down at your desk and start rummaging through your backpack, papers rustling, calculator clacking against wood, and mike squints at you upside-down like this is already an insult. studying. right. that was the premise. the excuse. the flimsy narrative justification for him being here. he watches you open a textbook. “what are you doing?” he asks, like the concept has escaped him.

you look over your shoulder. “getting my stuff?” you roll your eyes, which he takes as a challenge. he sits up, crawls toward you across the bed, grabs the back of your shirt and tugs until you lose balance and fall backward onto him. you let out this surprised laugh that immediately dissolves into giggling, and mike grins like he’s won something. “mike,” you say, trying and failing to sound serious. “we’re supposed to study.”

“yeah,” he counters easily, arms already around you, chin tucked into your shoulder. “i’m studying you.”

he’s like this now. touchy. clingy. physical in a way that feels compulsive. he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it half the time, hands finding your waist, your arm, your hands. like if he’s not touching you, you might disappear. he’s aware that this probably says something concerning about him psychologically. he chooses not to unpack that.

you wriggle a little, trying to get out of his hold. “seriously. mike.”

“right,” he says, blinking like he’s been snapped out of a trance. “sorry.” he loosens his grip immediately, guilt flickering across his face. he never wants to be that guy. the one who doesn’t listen. “i forgot.” which is mortifying because he really did forget. completely. within the two minutes it took to walk to your room.

you sit up properly this time, pulling your notes onto the bed between you. he follows, begrudgingly, propping himself up against your headboard. he looks at the open page and immediately feels his soul leave his body. calculus. of course it’s calculus. numbers. symbols. squiggles that look like someone sneezed on the page. mike has always been good at math but even he thinks this is stupid. you glance at him, already bracing yourself. “okay, um. i’m really bad at this. like, really. so sorry in advance.”

“you’re not bad,” he says immediately, the kind of tone he uses when he’s absolutely sure. he’s already shifting closer, knee bumping yours. “calculus is just stupid.”

he gestures vaguely at the textbook. you smile a little at that. mike wheeler, always the protector. even from yourself.

your room is quiet, late afternoon light slanting in through the window, curtains half-drawn, everything washed in this soft gold that makes you look unreal. you look nice. you always look nice. even now. especially now. hair pulled back loosely, a shirt thrown on that’s probably expensive but pretending not to be. cheer practice glitter still clinging to your skin like evidence of another life. your room is decorated the way everything about you is, intentional without being showy. framed photos with friends. ribbons tucked into corners. a few handmade things that mike clocks as important because you wouldn’t keep them otherwise. he’s sitting in the middle of all of it, trying very hard not to think about how strange it is that this—this space, this girl—is his now.

you’re not dumb. mike knows that. you’re just not… academic in the way teachers worship. you’re talented in other directions. physical, artistic, social. you learn with your body, not numbers on a page. mike gets it. he’s helped you before. technically. “helped.” copying homework. checking answers. walking you through just enough to get by. he doesn’t mind. if he can make your life easier, why wouldn’t he? but this is different. this is real tutoring. sitting down, slowing it all the way down, actually teaching.

he takes the pencil from your hand without asking, gentle about it, and taps the first problem. “okay,” he starts, switching gears. focused now. “where do you want to start?”

you shrug. “um. like. the beginning. pretend i know nothing.”

“perfect,” he jokes. “that’s my favorite audience.”

he starts explaining. not fast, not show-off smart. he breaks it down into pieces. uses words instead of symbols first, checks your face every few seconds to see if you’re still with him. when you furrow your brow, he stops and rephrases. when you nod too quickly, he backs up, suspicious. he’s good at this. he’s always been good at this. patient in a way people don’t expect from him. he wants you to actually understand, not just get through it.

you lean closer as he talks, chin tucked into your shoulder without thinking. your hair brushes his cheek. he inhales and immediately regrets it because now he’s distracted. you smell good—always—and it makes concentrating harder than it should be. he adjusts, forces himself back on track. professional. tutor mike. not boyfriend mike who wants to kiss you and forget derivatives exist. “does that make sense?” he asks.

“…i think so,” you reply, hesitant.

“okay,” he says. “walk me through it.”

you do. slowly. you mess up halfway through and immediately tense, ready to apologize again. “hey,” mike says, stopping you with a light touch on your wrist. “that part was right. you just skipped a step.”

you nod like that helps. it does not help.

you try again. you really do. pencil moving slow, tongue caught between your teeth, brow furrowed so hard mike’s pretty sure you’re at risk of a headache. you get halfway through and then take a hard left turn into nonsense. mike watches it happen in real time, like witnessing a car drift calmly off the road. “…okay,” he says carefully, when you stop. “so. walk me through why you did that.”

you shrug, already shrinking in on yourself. “i don’t know. i thought that’s what you said.”

he exhales, but not in an annoyed way, more like he’s resetting. he’s used to frustration—his own, other people’s—but this isn’t that. this is you trying and not trusting yourself. “it’s fine,” he says immediately, because you’re already looking at him like you expect disappointment. “you’re not wrong-wrong. you’re just… skipping ahead.”

“i’m sorry, i just—i’m really bad at this.”

“you keep saying that,” mike mutters, flipping the pencil around in his fingers. “and it’s still not true.”

you try again. and again. and again. each time getting a little closer, each time getting tripped up by a different thing. mike explains it three different ways. then a fourth. then a fifth, increasingly unhinged. “okay,” he says finally, tapping the page. “forget the numbers for a second.”

you look at him suspiciously. “that’s… all it is.”

“yeah, well. humor me.” he leans back against the headboard, thinking. gears turning. mike wheeler does not give up on puzzles. ever. he’s beaten worse odds than this. “think of it like,” he pauses, searching, “cheer.”

you perk up immediately. traitor.

“when you’re doing a routine,” he continues, gesturing vaguely, “you don’t just jump to the last move. there’s a sequence. if you skip a step, you fall on your face. same thing here. each step sets up the next one. you can’t just… vibe your way through it.”

you glare at him. “i vibe through a lot of things.”

“yeah,” he says dryly. “and look how that’s going for you right now.”

you shove his shoulder lightly. he grins, unrepentant. “okay,” he says, softer now. “try it again. explain it to me.”

you do. painfully slow. you say each step out loud. mike nods along, correcting you gently when you veer off. you hesitate before the last part, clearly bracing yourself. “nope,” he says quickly. “you’ve got it. keep going.”

you do.

you write the final answer and then freeze, staring at it like it might explode. “…is that right?” you ask.

mike looks it over once. twice. it’s right. he doesn’t even think about it, he just leans in and kisses you. quick, warm, right on the lips. proud, like congratulations just physically escaped him. when he pulls back you’re staring at him like he just broke your brain. “you did it!” he says, grinning. “see? not stupid.”

your mouth opens, then closes. color creeps up your neck then settles warm and obvious in your cheeks. you look back down at the page like it betrayed you. “what,” mike questions, immediately clocking it. he knows that look. he lives for that look. “what?”

“nothing.” you defend too fast, already reaching for your pencil again like busywork might save you.

he smiles slowly. smug. dangerous. “you liiiiked that.” he notices, voice pleased, like he’s just solved a mystery.

you scoff, still not looking at him. “shut up.”

“wow,” mike says. “that wasn’t even a denial.” you finally glance at him, flustered, and he feels it, that spark of victory. the kind that says yeah, you’re his girlfriend and he gets to do this. “okay,” he continues, tapping the notebook. “next problem.”

you groan softly but comply, shoulders brushing his as you lean in again. mike watches you work through it, correcting you here and there, being a model tutor. ignoring the part of his brain that’s already thinking about the next kiss like it’s scheduled.

you get it right again. he doesn’t hesitate this time either. just leans in and kisses you, a little longer now. still sweet, still restrained, but definitely intentional. you laugh into it when he pulls back, breathless and disoriented. “mike—”

“what?” he says innocently. “you’re doing great.”

you stare at him. “you’re bribing me.”

“encouraging,” he corrects. “big difference.”

and okay, maybe—maybe—this is partially about motivation. but also mike is not blind to the fact that kissing you repeatedly while pretending it’s academic support is efficient. there’s nothing technically wrong with it. no rules against it. he’s helping. you’re learning. everyone wins.

you move on to the next one. mess it up. no kiss. you sigh dramatically. “wow. okay. that hurt.”

“see?” mike says. “now you’re invested.”

you glare. “you’re evil.”

you try again slower, more careful. you talk through it out loud like he taught you. he listens, nodding, correcting one tiny thing. you land on the right answer. you don’t even look up this time, you just wait. mike laughs softly and kisses you anyway, because obviously. he’s not a monster. somewhere along the way you end up sitting between his legs, back against his chest, notebook balanced precariously. his arms are around you under the pretense of “pointing at things.” he kisses your temple. your cheek. your lips when you get something right. sometimes when you almost get something right, which he decides counts.

studying has become… flexible.

mike sees no issue with this system. you’re happier, less embarrassed, actually engaging, and he gets to touch you, kiss you, feel you relax against him like this is where you belong. which, yeah. it is. he’d help you with anything. calculus. homework. life. whatever you need. even if it means bending the rules a little. especially if it means more kisses.

this becomes the rhythm. problem, attempt, commentary. kiss when you succeed. mild disappointment when you don’t. “you’re learning,” he notices at one point, quieter now. “i can tell.”

“because of the kisses?” you tease.

“because you’re actually thinking,” he says. “the kisses are just… supplemental.”

“supplemental.” you repeat, amused, like you’re testing the word out.

mike nods seriously. “very important part of the curriculum.”

he glances back down at the page and immediately regrets it, because this problem has been sitting there for an embarrassing amount of time now and it is… not going well. it’s one of those optimization questions. rates of change. maximize this, minimize that. a paragraph of text pretending to be helpful while actually just being condescending.

he squints at it. reads it again. then, slower, like the problem might get scared and simplify itself. it does not. “okay,” he says finally, rubbing his face. “so. pretend this is a story problem. because it is. a really mean one. we’re trying to find the maximum,” he explains, tapping the paper. “which means derivative equals zero. that’s the rule. don’t argue with me, i didn’t invent calculus.”

you smile, but when you try to apply it, you get stuck again. five minutes pass. then ten. mike shifts. stretches his legs. glances at the clock. he’s not annoyed at you, he’s annoyed at the problem. and maybe a little at calculus as a concept. he has half a mind to write a letter to isaac newton and tell him this was a mistake.

“okay,” he says, softer now. “talk to me. where did it lose you?”

you hesitate, then point at a line. “here. everything after that just… stops making sense.”

he leans closer, arm sliding around you again automatically, and walks you through it step by step. he reframes it three different ways because he refuses to let a stupid math problem win. you try again. still wrong. you groan, dropping your head back against his shoulder. “i’m sorry, i swear i’m trying.”

“i know,” mike says immediately. no sarcasm. no teasing. “i can tell.”

and then—because he’s bored, and because you’re right there, and because his brain has officially decided this is close enough—he tilts his head and presses a kiss to your lips, more comfort than reward. you laugh softly, surprised. “mike.”

“what? morale boost.”

you turn a little, smiling up at him, and he kisses you again, still gentle, nothing dramatic, just incapable of not touching you when you’re within reach. that’s where the problem starts. the kiss lingers a second longer this time. then another. then he tilts his head without really deciding to, like his body is voting and his brain is outnumbered. how hard is it to just keep tutoring. really. how hard.

his hand comes up to your jaw automatically, thumb tracing that small arc under your ear. a motion he’s done enough times now that it feels habitual, domestic, like grabbing his jacket off the chair. he kisses you again, softer, slower, and somewhere in the back of his mind a tiny voice tries to remind him about math. that voice is immediately ignored. you make a small sound—surprised, amused—and he takes that as permission, because of course he does. mike has always been terrible at moderation. if something is good, he leans into it. if something is bad, he fixates. this is good. very good.

he pulls you a little closer and his brain offers up a completely reasonable justification: studying has clearly plateaued. diminishing returns. this is practically time management. (also: you’re his girlfriend. touching you is allowed. encouraged, even.) the notebook slides an inch to the side. then another. he keeps kissing you unhurried, like he’s got nowhere else to be. which, to be fair, he doesn’t. he already blew off the party. might as well commit.

the thing about mike is that he’s always been bad at stopping once he starts. games. arguments. plans. feelings. there’s a momentum to him, a tendency to lean forward instead of back, and right now that momentum is very clearly carrying him in one direction. you shift, maybe to sit up straighter, maybe to grab the notebook back, he’s not entirely sure, but his hand settles at your waist and suddenly you’re tipping backward, laughing softly as you land against the pillows. he braces himself over you without really thinking about it, one arm planted beside your head, the other still warm at your side. there’s a split second where his brain tries to check in. is this okay. are we going too far. should we—

you kiss him again, answering all of that without words, and the internal committee adjourns indefinitely. his thoughts scatter. useful ones, at least. what’s left is sensation: the way your hands curl into the front of his jacket, the familiar give of the mattress beneath his knees. it’s not frantic, it never really is with him. it’s focused. intent. like this is the most important thing happening in the world, and for now, maybe it is. he pulls back for air, forehead dropping briefly to yours. breathes. laughs softly, because of course this is how this went. “we are terrible.” he murmurs, half to himself.

you smile up at him, a little dazed, and say something about studying, about responsibility, about how you were supposed to be learning calculus. “we did learn,” mike says earnestly. “you learned derivatives. i learned that kissing you improves morale.” this is the kind of logic that has gotten him grounded before. the kind that sounds airtight in his head and absolutely ridiculous out loud. he’s aware of this. he proceeds anyway. he kisses you again, slower now, like there isn’t a clock ticking somewhere, like hawkins hasn’t taught him that good moments are usually brief. he hates that part of himself, the one always waiting for the drop, but right now it’s quiet. drowned out by you.

he tells himself they’ll go back to the homework. in a minute. after this kiss. or the next one. soon. “okay,” he says, pulling back with a sigh like he’s forcing himself to be responsible. “back to work. before i completely abandon my duties.”

and yeah, maybe he’s kissing you more than necessary. maybe the rewards are a little unbalanced. maybe he’s using calculus as an excuse to keep you close. but mike wheeler has faced monsters from another dimension. he’s allowed this.

and honestly? if this is studying, he hopes you never get good at math.

based off these two requests. <3 i got them and my brain went what if… both?? so here we are!! hope it feels like the best of both worlds ♡♡ volume two dropped how we feeling because WOWWW 😭!!!

STARTED 12.27.2025. POSTED 12.27.2025.

  ⸝⸝  masterlist  .ᐟ  𝜗𝜚

©️ latedeparture

You loved watching Joost on tour. The way he transformed the moment he stepped on stage, his charisma, the crowd going absolutely wild and shouting his lyrics word for word, it was an experience like no other. He lived that way in every part of his life — throwing himself completely into whatever he did, no hesitation. 

He loved you watching it too — you could see how much energy the love from his fans gave him. You saw how he poured his heart and soul into every moment, using every second he had. He was truly meant to be an artist.

But there was something you both loved even more — the time right after the tour. He always wanted to use it to relax, so you’d go on a trip, spend lazy days at home eating takeout, making love and just enjoying each other’s company. You loved being his peace — something he definitely needed after the chaos of life on a tourbus, and he loved finally being able to give all of his time to you, with no distractions.

This time, after his biggest tour yet, and after his popularity had reached a new level, you both decided to disappear for a while, and stay in a small house in the mountains for a few days. You knew his face was much more recognizable now, so he wanted to avoid being noticed and spending his energy on anyone but you. What you both wanted was simple — just the two of you, beautiful views, a comfy bed, and a fireplace. It felt like the best thing in the world, exactly what you both needed.

So when you get there from the airport and start unpacking the bags from the back of the taxi you almost gasp. 

You’re surrounded by a quiet forrest, and although you know there are a few other houses nearby, they’re hidden well enough that it feels like it’s just the two of you in the world. The house itself is small, between the trees, but it looks so cozy that you can’t wait to step in.

“It’s so nice.” you say to Joost, unable to hide the excitement in your voice. You know this is exactly what he wanted.

He steps out as well and comes over, taking the bag from your hand and setting it down for a moment, so he can wrap an arm around your back. His arm sleeps around your back, his body warm against yours. He always gets a little extra clingy after a tour, it’s his way of making up for all the time apart, a reminder of how much he missed you. 

“Exactly what I needed after that crazy month. Just you, me, and no one recognizing me.” He smiles, leans in, and presses a soft kiss to your temple, and you melt into him instantly, trying to tuck yourself even closer against his chest. Moments like this always make you appreciate his height, the way he can fold you into him so easily, like you’re meant to fit there.

“Let’s go see inside.” You take him by the hand, and he picks up both bags — his and yours, while you grab the key from the spot you were told about and open the door. You’re really glad you don’t have to check in or talk to anyone — it’s just you and him.

The apartment isn’t big — it’s a wooden house with a living room, one bedroom, a kitchen and a small bathroom. But that’s more than enough for a short getaway out of the city. Still, the best part waits out back.

In the back there’s a small backyard with an incredible view of the forest and mountains, and a huge outdoor bathtub with a jacuzzi. A tall table sits nearby, perfect for leaving your snacks, wine, or whatever else you decide to bring with you.  It feels private, peaceful. Perfect. 

“Can’t wait to try this one” you whisper in his ear, and give him a quick wink. He knows exactly what that wink means, and you are sure the same pictures crossed his mind when he saw the tub. 

You look around, checking the details against the message the owner sent, opening a few drawers, testing the light switches. But to be honest — you’re just waiting for the evening — you already know what it’s going to bring.

You spend the rest of the afternoon getting everything ready — slicing up snacks, unpacking your things and taking a quick shower, while he starts to fill up the hot tub.

You take a quick look at yourself in the mirror, wearing nothing but a bathrobe. You feel exceptionally attractive — you don’t know if you actually look better than ever, or if it’s the place, or maybe it’s the number of complements he’s given you today, but you’re in an excellent mood. Downstairs, you can hear him moving around, carrying the wine and the food you bought together out to the backyard. 

You go down, and stop in the doorway, leaning against the frame teasingly. You watch him for a long minute, his fingers running casually through his hair as he sets the bottle down on the table. 

“Hi” your voice low, but enough to catch his attention. He turns and you look at him from under your lashes, a slow, teasing smile curving at the corner of your lips.

You need him to look at you with that hungry expression you’ve seen on his face before — that i-could-devour-you look that makes your knees week and your breath catch. 

He’s standing there, in just shorts and flip flops, nothing else, and somehow, he couldn’t look any better to you. Just looking at him makes your stomach twist with a mix of nerves and excitement. Are you going crazy? Or is he really that hot? 

He looks at you — exactly the way you wanted. His eyes darken, as they trace over you, taking in every detail. You know he’s imagining what’s beneath the bathrobe, even though he’s seen you naked a thousand times before.

He reaches out a hand, and you step closer and take it.

“You’re so hot” he whispers, his large hand sliding to your waist. He pulls you even closer leaving a gentle kiss on your lips. You feel like the temperature around you has suddenly risen a few degrees, but it’s just your body reacting to his every touch. “I can’t wait to see whats under this bathrobe.” He whispers right into your mouth, while you play with his soft, fluffy hair just above the nape of his neck. 

“There’s absolutely nothing underneath.” You whisper, feeling your heart start to beat faster. “no swimsuit, no underwear… just my body, as a gift to you.” 

You feel your heart almost bursting out of your chest, and your whole body is shaking slightly with excitement and anticipation for what is about to happen. It’s been a long time since you met, but each time with him was still like the first time — the excitement, the strong emotion, the craving is unmatched. 

“Yeah?” He asks, teasingly playing with the belt of the bathrobe. “Can I peak a little?” His voice is lower, and quieter, as if he was asking something absolutely forbidden. You touch his chest with one hand. 

“I don’t know…” you whisper, as his other hand reaches for your exposed thigh. His fingers gently tickle your skin, lifting the material of your bathrobe just a little, but enough to send goosebumps up your skin. He fees it — the smile on his face tells you everything you need to know. He loves it — the teasing, observing your reactions, watching how your body reacts to him, how you melt under his touch. 

“You have to take it off If you want to get into the tub.” he lifts one brow up teasingly, nodding towards the tub. You lick your lips. Just his voice already does… something inside you.

You look at the bathtub, which is already filled with bubbling water. It looks warm and inviting. The cool night breeze makes you want to get into the warm, pleasant water even more. Especially when you notice a bottle of champagne and the snacks prepared earlier on the table. 

You’re torn between entering the water and continuing to tease him — both options seem equally tempting. Your eyes slide from the hot tub to his sparkling eyes and then his parted lips, but before you can make any decision, he says:

“Open your mouth.” His voice is quiet but far from hesitant. It sounds like a command, and the grip on your waist only confirms it. 

You look at him, surprised by the sudden request, but you open your mouth and he slides one of the fruits into your mouth, touching your upper lip with the tip of his finger as he does so.

“Oh.” You say after you’ve swallowed. “I thought you were going to put something else in my mouth.” You say, smiling cheekily. You lick your lips, in a much more obscene way than necessary, never taking your eyes off his face.

“So impatient… I saved that for later.” His fingers find the knot on your bathrobe again. “Will you finally take it off, or fo I have to tear it to pieces?” His fingers slip beneath the hem of your bathrobe, moving up and down, revealing just a tiny bit of your naked body. Only this piece makes his eyes shine even brighter in the low light.

You roll your eyes theatrically, grabbing the edge of your robe and covering the exposed part of your body again and repeating after him:

“So impatient!” Your try to hide how full of excitement you are, but you know you can’t — in fact, you can’t wait just as much as he does. 

You undo the knot on the rope, but you don’t take it off — you’re not done teasing him and you know that with every step you take, you’re driving him even more crazy. You slide it down one shoulder, revealing more and more skin with each passing second, stopping just above your breast. You could swear you hear a soft groan of dissatisfaction escaping his lips. You see his gaze follows your fingers, which are now hooked on the edges of your untied bathrobe. You open it up a little more, but only a little, so he can only see the space between your breasts and your belly button. Then you stop and lift your head to look at him. You know you’ll see endless desire in his eyes.

“You’re killing me” he whispers, shaking his head. “Take it off. Stop teasing.” he puts his hands on the soft fabric, but as soon as he does it, you tie it again with an expression as if you wanted to punish him.

“So impatient” you pout, placing one of your hands on his cheek. “Good things require patience.” Your fingers reach for the hem of his shorts and you teasingly trace along it, from one hip to another. You tuck your lower lip between your teeth, then turn and leave him standing as you reach for one of the strawberries from the table, pretending to focus on it — though you can still feel his eyes on you the entire time.  

You move closer to the bathtub, and knowing that he is not expecting that — you take off your robe in one quick movement. Then, completely naked, leaning on the edge of the hot tub, you look at him and ask:

“Well, are you coming, or not?” You slide into the tub, feeling the hot, bubbling water envelop your naked body. It’s a pleasant feeling, a complete contrast to the cold night air, but your body is already waiting for a completely different kind of warmth that will soon spread in your lower abdomen.

“If i ever say no to that question, call the police because that would mean I’ve been cloned and replaced with someone else. You know, like Avril Lavigne.” He shakes his head with a laugh. It never stops to amaze you how hot but also how chronically online he is. 

You chuckle, as he takes off his shorts along with his underwear, making you bite your lower lip again. You are exactly like him, you are just as impressed by him as he is by you. No matter how many times you see him naked, your body’s reaction is always the same. He takes the bucket with ice and champagne, sets it on the table next to the tub, and pours Champagne into two glasses before joining you. When he sits beside you, you can feel the warmth of his body even through the steam rising from the water. You want to reach out and touch him, but you also don’t want this night to end — so you don’t want to just throw yourself at him, knowing that this magical evening will end much faster than you’d like.

“Are we gonna make a toast? A wish?” You smile, holding your glass just above your head, to keep the water from getting in. The steam curls around the both of you, making this moment even more special. 

“Yes. To me seeing you naked more often.” He says, raising his glass higher, his face lit up like he’s just said the smartest thing in the world. You laugh and shake your head — sometimes, beneath all the confidence and charm, you can still see that boyish, teenage youtuber in him. And you love it just as much. 

“Oh, i will drink to that!” You smile, clinking your glass against his. You take a few sips of the cold, sparkling wine, before setting the glass back on the table. The chill of the drink is a perfect contrast to the warmth of the water — and to the heat radiating from both your skin and his. You needed that to — an escape from reality.

“So…” you whisper into his ear “it’s getting really hot in this tub.” You dramatically wipe the sweat from your forehead, moving up just a little above the waterline, so that your tits are visible for him. And oh, don’t they look amazing in this setting. You know exactly what to do to make him want you even more. You catch his quick gaze moving over your water-slicked body. You can’t help but smile with satisfaction. He falls for your tricks every time, and you can’t help but love how easy it still is to catch him off guard.

“I see you’re really, really in the teasing mood today.” He shakes his head, but before you can reply, his both hands find your waist, drawing you gently towards him until you’re on his lap, face to face. His eyes move again to your boobs, his one hand reaching to your nipple.

Finally, it begins — the moment you’ve both been circling around all day.

“You don’t like it?” You ask, your voice unsteady at the end, as the sensation of his thumb against your skin makes all kinds of emotions blooming inside you.

“Oh, i do…” he smiles. “But you know what I like even more?” His thumb plays with your nipple, which immediately hardens under his touch. The other hand grips your waist so tightly, like he thinks you’re planning to run away and he needs to hold you in place. Now he won’t let you play games or tease him anymore. He has you in all your glory, and all to himself.

You feel the tension between the two of you growing thicker, and you can’t help yourself, and rub your crotch once against his thigh. The feeling is a little less intense, soften by the water, but you can still feel the muscles in his thigh tense. You move again, back and forth, this time pressing tighter against his muscle. 

“Yes, baby. Exactly make yourself ready for me.” He smiles, his face just an inch away. Then his lips meet yours in a deep, heated kiss. The sounds of the night forrest, and the gentle bubbling of the water make the perfect soundtrack for that moment. His hand goes to your other nipple, rubbing and pulling both of them now, then he squeezes the breast in his hands like it was exactly made to fit them. You feel so good already, your breath becomes heavier as you lift your hips slightly, only to lower them again and rub against his thigh again. A soft sigh leaves your lips and you grip his shoulder, closing your eyes. You’re about to do it again, and again when he pulls his leg away and the unpleasant surprise makes you grind against nothing. You can’t help but groan in dissatisfaction at the lack of friction, but it only brings a smug smile to his face. He can’t pass up any opportunity to see how much you want him. Not someone else - him.

“Who’s teasing who now?” He whispers, brushing his lips against yours, but before he kisses you, he grabs you firmly by the waist with both hands and sits you back on his thigh. His hands move to your hips, gripping them tightly. He starts moving you, setting a rhythm of you rubbing against his thigh. You get it. He wants to be in charge. He wants to be the one that gives you this pleasure. His fingers are digging into your sensitive skin, but it’s a kind of pain that you actually like. 

“You like that, huh?” He murmurs in that low voice of his — the one he knows drives you crazy, the same tone he uses on stage. Like other things he sometimes does on stage on purpose, knowing that you’re watching him from the backstage, rubbing your legs together, waiting for him to come and fuck you in a small bathroom or his dressing room. You don’t even want to think about how many questionable places you’ve done it in, unable to stop yourself until you get back to the hotel. “My little slut.” He smiles. “Just my leg is enough to turn you on.” He’s so proud of himself. And he should.

You bite your lip, half embarrassed by how true his words are, half aroused by the way he talks to you, the way he moves and the way he looks. You know your body is reacting even more strongly after being apart for the past few weeks. And you enjoy every touch that you have missed so much these weeks. 

He puts his hand on your pussy, and taps it a few times. Not expecting such a move, a shiver runs through your spine and a quiet moan falls from your lips.

“I will take care of this in a minute.” He places his other hand on your cheek, then pulls you closer to kiss you again. This time more aggressively, pressing against your wet lips. His hand moves to your hair, and his every movement shows you how much he needs you here and now. When he finally breaks away from you for a moment, he whispers against your lips:

“But first, we have to do something about this heat…” you furrow your brows, having absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. 

You don’t see where his hand is reaching, but he leaves your mouth for a moment, reaching behind him and looking in that direction. You squeeze his arm, as if you were afraid his lips would never return to yours, as if this were the end of what had begun so beautifully.

But it’s just a few seconds and he turns around and his lips reach your exposed collarbone. 

But it’s not just his lips. The sensation almost takes your breath away. He holds an ice cube between his lips, sliding it along your collarbone and then your shoulder. The feeling is perfect — his warm, soft lips contrasting with the hard, slippery and cold ice cube. You sigh into his ear, focusing all your attention on his every movement, as he trails his lips down your chest. The ice quickly melts in his heated mouth, leaving a wet trail down your body. 

“Joost… if you keep doing that I will come just from this.” You say, sighing softly. Your voice is already weak, and you haven’t done anything yet. You grab his forearm, not knowing whether you want to stop him or encourage him to do more.

He doesn’t respond — but he doesn’t stop either. You don’t want him to stop, but God, this feeling is almost too much to bear. You try to calm the fire he awakened in you, but you’re already too far gone. You’re going crazy over each movement of his lips. You want more, you want him to not leave a single milimeter of your body out, you want a trail of cool water to cover your entire body.

Finally the ice cube melts completely, and his lips, hovering over your breast, reach for your nipple to place a cool kiss on it.

“Does that feel good?” He whispers, and his lips reach a little higher, to your shoulder, to touch your skin there as well. His lips are still wet and cold from the ice cube. 

Oh, and there’s that voice again. That low, sexy voice of his only adds to the fire already burning inside you. 

“Yes.” You say, your own voice weak and slightly pathetic. You can hear the request for more in it. Or not, not a request — a plea. You don’t just want more. You need more.

“Sit on the edge of the tub.” He commands, and when you don’t do it, he grabs your waist with both hands to help you sit on the edge of the tub. He’s just as impatient as you. “Come on” you can see in his eyes that he already has a whole plan for how this night will go, and you have no choice but to listen to him. 

You try to sit as comfortably as possible on the narrow edge of the bathtub. You feel the cold night air mixing with the warm steam rising from the surface of the hot tub water. He reaches for another ice cube and places it between his lips, then gently reaches it to the inside of your thigh, just above your knee. You already know what’s on his mind, and just the anticipation of it makes you bite your lip almost until it bleeds. You’re not ready for what hes about to do, but at the same time, you’ve never been more ready.

He places both hands on your knees, forcing you to open your legs further. You look at him, biting your lip. He uses one hand to brush away the wet hair sticking to his face and adjust the ice cube in his mouth, then reaches his lips to your thigh again, this time higher, where the skin is even more sensitive. His icy lips contrast with your warm, wet thighs and make your skin break out in goosebumps under his touch. You grip the edge of the tub tightly in your hands, taking deep breath after deep breath as his lips move higher and higher. There are no words to describe what you feel inside. Each of his movements brings more sensation than the last. You feel yourself melting just like the cube in his mouth, which is now getting dangerously close to your crotch. 

You know where this is going, and you really hope the intensity of the upcoming sensations doesn’t make you fall of the edge of the tub. 

His lips come closer to your hand, making both your breath and your heart quicken.You run your wet fingers through your own hair, and look down biting your lips even though you know perfectly well that the sight alone could knock you off your feet. You see his lips slowly moving, his light, damp hair sticking to the back of his neck, his fingers tightening around your neck. He doesn’t look at you — he’s too busy intensifying your pleasure. You admire him, you want to tangle your fingers in his soft hair, but you’re afraid that when his lips finally reach their target you’ll lose your balance and fall, so you cling to the edge of the tub.

His lips continue to move, making you sigh here and there, until he finally drops the ice cube into the water, unable to wait any longer. His icy lips reach your clit and your body moves completely uncontrollably, your fingers gripping the edge of the tub even tighter.

“Oh God” you whisper, tilting your head back. His wet, cold tongue sends a shot of pleasure through your body.

Your fingers reach for his blonde hair. You lower your head to look at him, wanting to see his head move, his fingers tightening on your thighs. His fingertips go white from how hard he presses them into the soft skin of your thighs. You lick your lips. You wish he could stay like this forever, doing what he’s doing now. His tongue slides up and down your slit, as you try to relax and let go of the pressure you put on the edge of the tub. 

Oh, how good this feels. You don’t know you’ll ever be able to let him go on tour alone again. From now on, he’ll have to do this with his lips every day. 

He finds your sweet spot and gently nudges it with his tongue. You slide down the tub a little, completely losing your ability to sit upright. That’s more than sure — you won’t be able to take it in that position. It’s too much — too much emotion, too much sensation, too much of him — too much to be able to keep sitting like this.

“Hold on to my shoulder” he says quickly, pausing for a short moment, but then immediately returning his tongue to where it belongs.

“Mhh” something leaves your mouth, but you can’t call it a word. Your mind is completely blank, you can’t form any sensible thought that would be anything other than delight at what his tongue is doing between your legs right now.

You grip his shoulder with your fingers, trying to regain your balance. Still, focusing on squeezing his arm feels like too much work for your bliss-soaked mind right now.

His tongue keeps going through your folds, and you try to focus on not falling from the edge of the tub, while at the same time enjoying the pleasure that permeates you, but your position makes it difficult for you to completely surrender to the pleasure and let him bring you to climax.

“Relax, baby” he says, lifting his head. “You’re not gonna fall.” He looks at you from between your legs — that’s where you like to see him the most.

Well… also above you. 

Or in front of you…

Anywhere, to be very honest.

You put your hand on his cheek, still unable to say anything coherent. 

“Or do you want me to fuck you already?” He says, smiling, leaving another small kiss on your thigh, then lightly nipping the skin of your thigh. He can’t tear his lips away from your body for even a moment today. 

You nod your head, and he slowly stands up, though he seems a little dissatisfied that his lips didn’t manage to bring you to an orgasm. He helps you change your position. He bends you over the edge of the hot tub. This sudden reverse of dominance makes you even more horny. 

For a short while, he does nothing, completely captivated by the way your body looks against the water. Bubbles dance around your butt cheeks, and he just stands there, unable to take his eyes away. He could write a whole song about how perfect your ass is. and that water sound in the background could be the beat. He’d like to remember this idea after tonight is over. 

“Ekhm” you remind him of what he should be doing, breaking him out of his fantasies. Although, if you knew what he was fantasizing about, maybe your reaction would be different. 

“Right” he says, but he doesn’t come closer to you or grab your waist. “Give me a minute. I’m really thirsty.” You look back to see why it’s taking so long and you see him grabbing the half-empty bottle of champagne from the table. Before you know what he’s about to do, he lifts the bottle up and pours some of the champagne onto your back and your butt. 

“You’re insane! I see that you really missed while you were on tour.” you laugh, as you feel his lips on your lower back, just above your ass, then his tongue licking the alcohol from your body. “are we shooting a music video today?” You don’t stop giggling. Sometimes it’s amazing how your thoughts revolve around similar topics — even though you’re both ashamed to admit it. 

“I would never let anyone watch it. No one deserves this view. Even I don’t deserve it.” 

“You’re crazy” you chuckle as you feel his lips on your butt cheeks. “Does it taste better this way?”

“Of course it fucking does. You taste better than anything in the world.” He says, his lips still a few inches from your body, and you feel a blush creep up your cheeks. Finally, he grabs your waist with both hands and straightens up. 

His hand reaches to your clit, now incredibly wet, and not from the hot tub water. You can almost sense the huge smile appearing on his face.

“So fucking hot” he leans down and whispers in your ear, pushing your hair over one shoulder so he can have better access to your neck. “I wish I could do this every day” his hand grabs the back of your neck, his fingers tightening slightly at your sides, making you bend over even more.

He breathes out and you can feel his fingers tighten around your neck even more. You feel the familiar feeling in your stomach, you can’t help it, but when he becomes so bold and dominant with you like this it turns you on so much it’s hard to stand still. You arch your back giving him better access to your body, as you finally feel him sliding inside you. The way he presses against you, how close his wet body is to you, and his warm breath next to your ear only make it even better. You completely forget about the world around you. Now it’s just you and him. 

“So good” you whisper, as he pushes himself deeper. You tilt your head back, but his fingers on your neck push you down. 

“What? Speak louder, princess.” He speaks still with the same low, sexy voice.

“So good.” You say again, trying to speak louder, but your voice breaks at the end from the overload of emotion. You close your eyes, feeling him moving. The warm water splashes against your thighs and your stomach, and feel his hand loosen the grip on your neck and then moving to your hip. He lifts his other hand to sleep your butt with a loud smak amplified by the water.

He speeds up his movements, giving you the rhythm. You move your hips along, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the water splashing fills the silence around you, covering up your soft moans.

You hear him gasp for breath and swear quietly, as you arch your back even further, allowing him to enjoy the view even more. Your hands grip the edge of the tub, the movements of your hips following his rhythm. His hand reaches for the nape of your neck again, but then moves even higher, to your hair, taking a handful of it in his hand to tug at it and force you to arch even further. His other hand unexpectedly lands on your butt once more, making you moan loudly. Your head tilted all the way back, you can almost see his face.

You follow his rhythm and for a long moment you’re both a mess of sighs and moans. You feel your strength starting to drain, but you don’t allow yourself to slow down. You feel he’s close when his hand pulls harder on your hair, and the other hand squeezes your butt almost painfully. 

He’s moving so fast now that the water is splashing everywhere, tickling your Harden nipples, your lips, and getting in your eyes, making you squeeze them shut. 

He pulls his dick out of you only second before he cums, and you feel him the warm trickles of his sperm landing on your buttocks and lower back. You know perfectly well that he just wants to admire his hard work for a moment. You don’t mind, you don’t mind at all. You could go on like this for hours if it wasn’t for the uncomfortable position over the tub. But you can’t get enough of him.

Not even a minute passes before his hand reaches to your clit, patting it several times.

“Come on, baby. Come for me too.” He grabs a fistful of your hair again as he brings you to your peak. You moan his name loudly, feeling your body convulse, but he doesn’t stop, letting you ride this wave of pleasure. You don’t need much, the touch of his lips, his deep thrusts inside you were more than enough to make you come.

You both breathe heavily, when he finally helps you stand up, and then sit inside of the tub and put your head on his shoulder. He sits down next to you and you immediately rest your head on his shoulder. You suddenly feel a surge of exhaustion, as if this crazy evening has completely drained you. Now you long for nothing more than the comfort of his arms. 

“I think we will have to come here more often.” He says, chuckling, but his voice sounding tired too. “or buy a tub like this. The way your butt moves in that water…” He shakes his head as if he couldn’t find the words to describe it. You look at him and see everything in his eyes — love, devotion, admiration. All of this lives within him, right alongside that animalistic attraction he feels for you. He truly gives you everything and more than you could ask for. 

“Yes. Please” you answer, nodding your head. Maybe that’s not such a good idea. You might consider quitting your job just to spend all days in that tub fucking with him. 

Well… does that sound bad?

“Aren’t you cold?” He asks, his fingers lightly rub your exposed arm. The water is not so warm anymore.

“No, but I can feel it’s very cold outside. I’ll probably get cold soon. Let’s get out of here before we catch a cold.” He jumps out of the tub, and dries himself with a white hotel towel. Then, he puts on a white, fluffy bathrobe, tying it at the waist. He gives you his hand. You watch him with your lower lip tucked between your teeth. You can’t help it, anything he does is sexy to you. 

You grab his hand and he helps you out of the water. His gaze roams over your body, completely captivated. 

“You look…” he says, and you come closer to him and close the distance between you pressing your lips against his. You can’t have enough of him. Even if he just brought you over the edge, you might end up fucking on the couch in a minute too. Your hunger for his body seems never to be satisfied.

He grabs your butt and squeezes it in his hands, as you wrap your hands around his neck, gently stroking the sensitive skin on the back of his neck.

“So, i see we are not done for today yet?” He whispers into your mouth, and you swear you saw a spark in his eye.

You just smile at his words. You missed him so much during that time he was gone. You couldn’t go on tour with him, so now that you finally have him by your side again, you want to make the most of this time — as close to him as possible. It’s not just about sex and physical closeness, but also feeling his presence, listening to his jokes, watching how excited he gets when he talks about something that’s important to him, or how he smiles and nods his head while listening to what you have to say like no one else.

But you also want that physical closeness. All the time. As close as possible. You would crawl inside his skin if you could. 

You feel him slapping your ass once again, and biting his lips as he looks at you one last time before taking the towel from the table.

You just stand there as he slowly dries your hair, arms, breasts and stomach with the towel. The cold wind makes you shiver slightly and you can’t wait to be with him in that warm, cozy house again. 

Once you’re dry, you pick up your robe from the ground and put it on, then you both head into the apartment. It’s getting really cold outside.

There’s a fireplace in the living room, so while he lights the fire, you open a bottle of white wine that’s been chilling in the fridge while you were… busy. The mood is perfect for getting just a little bit drunk and completely shedding your embarrassment. Who knows what might happen after a few sips of alcohol?

Finally, you hear the familiar sound of the crackling wood in the fireplace and before you know it, you feel him standing right behind you, resting his head on your shoulder.

He hugs you from behind and you smile, enjoying the warmth that radiates from his body. You pour two glasses of wine and feel his hand getting dangerously close to the edge of your bathrobe, only to slip behind it a moment later. 

“I think you don’t really need that.” He whispers, as his hand slides up your thigh, his fingertips touching the exposed inches of your skin. Then he reaches for the knot in your robe to loosen it and then untie it. He slowly slides the bathrobe down your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. You’ve only just finished, and he’s already igniting a new desire within you. 

He rests his hands on the counter on either side of you and you feel his body press harder against you. His lips ghost over your neck. He’s more than ready for more.

You take the two glasses of wine, and turn to face him. 

“First, let’s have a glass. Then… there are so many places in this apartment where you can fuck me” you whisper.

You loved watching Joost on tour. The way he transformed the moment he stepped on stage, his charisma, the crowd going absolutely wild and shouting his lyrics word for word, it was an experience like no other. He lived that way in every part of his life — throwing himself completely into whatever he did, no hesitation. 

He loved you watching it too — you could see how much energy the love from his fans gave him. You saw how he poured his heart and soul into every moment, using every second he had. He was truly meant to be an artist.

But there was something you both loved even more — the time right after the tour. He always wanted to use it to relax, so you’d go on a trip, spend lazy days at home eating takeout, making love and just enjoying each other’s company. You loved being his peace — something he definitely needed after the chaos of life on a tourbus, and he loved finally being able to give all of his time to you, with no distractions.

This time, after his biggest tour yet, and after his popularity had reached a new level, you both decided to disappear for a while, and stay in a small house in the mountains for a few days. You knew his face was much more recognizable now, so he wanted to avoid being noticed and spending his energy on anyone but you. What you both wanted was simple — just the two of you, beautiful views, a comfy bed, and a fireplace. It felt like the best thing in the world, exactly what you both needed.

So when you get there from the airport and start unpacking the bags from the back of the taxi you almost gasp. 

You’re surrounded by a quiet forrest, and although you know there are a few other houses nearby, they’re hidden well enough that it feels like it’s just the two of you in the world. The house itself is small, between the trees, but it looks so cozy that you can’t wait to step in.

“It’s so nice.” you say to Joost, unable to hide the excitement in your voice. You know this is exactly what he wanted.

He steps out as well and comes over, taking the bag from your hand and setting it down for a moment, so he can wrap an arm around your back. His arm sleeps around your back, his body warm against yours. He always gets a little extra clingy after a tour, it’s his way of making up for all the time apart, a reminder of how much he missed you. 

“Exactly what I needed after that crazy month. Just you, me, and no one recognizing me.” He smiles, leans in, and presses a soft kiss to your temple, and you melt into him instantly, trying to tuck yourself even closer against his chest. Moments like this always make you appreciate his height, the way he can fold you into him so easily, like you’re meant to fit there.

“Let’s go see inside.” You take him by the hand, and he picks up both bags — his and yours, while you grab the key from the spot you were told about and open the door. You’re really glad you don’t have to check in or talk to anyone — it’s just you and him.

The apartment isn’t big — it’s a wooden house with a living room, one bedroom, a kitchen and a small bathroom. But that’s more than enough for a short getaway out of the city. Still, the best part waits out back.

In the back there’s a small backyard with an incredible view of the forest and mountains, and a huge outdoor bathtub with a jacuzzi. A tall table sits nearby, perfect for leaving your snacks, wine, or whatever else you decide to bring with you.  It feels private, peaceful. Perfect. 

“Can’t wait to try this one” you whisper in his ear, and give him a quick wink. He knows exactly what that wink means, and you are sure the same pictures crossed his mind when he saw the tub. 

You look around, checking the details against the message the owner sent, opening a few drawers, testing the light switches. But to be honest — you’re just waiting for the evening — you already know what it’s going to bring.

You spend the rest of the afternoon getting everything ready — slicing up snacks, unpacking your things and taking a quick shower, while he starts to fill up the hot tub.

You take a quick look at yourself in the mirror, wearing nothing but a bathrobe. You feel exceptionally attractive — you don’t know if you actually look better than ever, or if it’s the place, or maybe it’s the number of complements he’s given you today, but you’re in an excellent mood. Downstairs, you can hear him moving around, carrying the wine and the food you bought together out to the backyard. 

You go down, and stop in the doorway, leaning against the frame teasingly. You watch him for a long minute, his fingers running casually through his hair as he sets the bottle down on the table. 

“Hi” your voice low, but enough to catch his attention. He turns and you look at him from under your lashes, a slow, teasing smile curving at the corner of your lips.

You need him to look at you with that hungry expression you’ve seen on his face before — that i-could-devour-you look that makes your knees week and your breath catch. 

He’s standing there, in just shorts and flip flops, nothing else, and somehow, he couldn’t look any better to you. Just looking at him makes your stomach twist with a mix of nerves and excitement. Are you going crazy? Or is he really that hot? 

He looks at you — exactly the way you wanted. His eyes darken, as they trace over you, taking in every detail. You know he’s imagining what’s beneath the bathrobe, even though he’s seen you naked a thousand times before.

He reaches out a hand, and you step closer and take it.

“You’re so hot” he whispers, his large hand sliding to your waist. He pulls you even closer leaving a gentle kiss on your lips. You feel like the temperature around you has suddenly risen a few degrees, but it’s just your body reacting to his every touch. “I can’t wait to see whats under this bathrobe.” He whispers right into your mouth, while you play with his soft, fluffy hair just above the nape of his neck. 

“There’s absolutely nothing underneath.” You whisper, feeling your heart start to beat faster. “no swimsuit, no underwear… just my body, as a gift to you.” 

You feel your heart almost bursting out of your chest, and your whole body is shaking slightly with excitement and anticipation for what is about to happen. It’s been a long time since you met, but each time with him was still like the first time — the excitement, the strong emotion, the craving is unmatched. 

“Yeah?” He asks, teasingly playing with the belt of the bathrobe. “Can I peak a little?” His voice is lower, and quieter, as if he was asking something absolutely forbidden. You touch his chest with one hand. 

“I don’t know…” you whisper, as his other hand reaches for your exposed thigh. His fingers gently tickle your skin, lifting the material of your bathrobe just a little, but enough to send goosebumps up your skin. He fees it — the smile on his face tells you everything you need to know. He loves it — the teasing, observing your reactions, watching how your body reacts to him, how you melt under his touch. 

“You have to take it off If you want to get into the tub.” he lifts one brow up teasingly, nodding towards the tub. You lick your lips. Just his voice already does… something inside you.

You look at the bathtub, which is already filled with bubbling water. It looks warm and inviting. The cool night breeze makes you want to get into the warm, pleasant water even more. Especially when you notice a bottle of champagne and the snacks prepared earlier on the table. 

You’re torn between entering the water and continuing to tease him — both options seem equally tempting. Your eyes slide from the hot tub to his sparkling eyes and then his parted lips, but before you can make any decision, he says:

“Open your mouth.” His voice is quiet but far from hesitant. It sounds like a command, and the grip on your waist only confirms it. 

You look at him, surprised by the sudden request, but you open your mouth and he slides one of the fruits into your mouth, touching your upper lip with the tip of his finger as he does so.

“Oh.” You say after you’ve swallowed. “I thought you were going to put something else in my mouth.” You say, smiling cheekily. You lick your lips, in a much more obscene way than necessary, never taking your eyes off his face.

“So impatient… I saved that for later.” His fingers find the knot on your bathrobe again. “Will you finally take it off, or fo I have to tear it to pieces?” His fingers slip beneath the hem of your bathrobe, moving up and down, revealing just a tiny bit of your naked body. Only this piece makes his eyes shine even brighter in the low light.

You roll your eyes theatrically, grabbing the edge of your robe and covering the exposed part of your body again and repeating after him:

“So impatient!” Your try to hide how full of excitement you are, but you know you can’t — in fact, you can’t wait just as much as he does. 

You undo the knot on the rope, but you don’t take it off — you’re not done teasing him and you know that with every step you take, you’re driving him even more crazy. You slide it down one shoulder, revealing more and more skin with each passing second, stopping just above your breast. You could swear you hear a soft groan of dissatisfaction escaping his lips. You see his gaze follows your fingers, which are now hooked on the edges of your untied bathrobe. You open it up a little more, but only a little, so he can only see the space between your breasts and your belly button. Then you stop and lift your head to look at him. You know you’ll see endless desire in his eyes.

“You’re killing me” he whispers, shaking his head. “Take it off. Stop teasing.” he puts his hands on the soft fabric, but as soon as he does it, you tie it again with an expression as if you wanted to punish him.

“So impatient” you pout, placing one of your hands on his cheek. “Good things require patience.” Your fingers reach for the hem of his shorts and you teasingly trace along it, from one hip to another. You tuck your lower lip between your teeth, then turn and leave him standing as you reach for one of the strawberries from the table, pretending to focus on it — though you can still feel his eyes on you the entire time.  

You move closer to the bathtub, and knowing that he is not expecting that — you take off your robe in one quick movement. Then, completely naked, leaning on the edge of the hot tub, you look at him and ask:

“Well, are you coming, or not?” You slide into the tub, feeling the hot, bubbling water envelop your naked body. It’s a pleasant feeling, a complete contrast to the cold night air, but your body is already waiting for a completely different kind of warmth that will soon spread in your lower abdomen.

“If i ever say no to that question, call the police because that would mean I’ve been cloned and replaced with someone else. You know, like Avril Lavigne.” He shakes his head with a laugh. It never stops to amaze you how hot but also how chronically online he is. 

You chuckle, as he takes off his shorts along with his underwear, making you bite your lower lip again. You are exactly like him, you are just as impressed by him as he is by you. No matter how many times you see him naked, your body’s reaction is always the same. He takes the bucket with ice and champagne, sets it on the table next to the tub, and pours Champagne into two glasses before joining you. When he sits beside you, you can feel the warmth of his body even through the steam rising from the water. You want to reach out and touch him, but you also don’t want this night to end — so you don’t want to just throw yourself at him, knowing that this magical evening will end much faster than you’d like.

“Are we gonna make a toast? A wish?” You smile, holding your glass just above your head, to keep the water from getting in. The steam curls around the both of you, making this moment even more special. 

“Yes. To me seeing you naked more often.” He says, raising his glass higher, his face lit up like he’s just said the smartest thing in the world. You laugh and shake your head — sometimes, beneath all the confidence and charm, you can still see that boyish, teenage youtuber in him. And you love it just as much. 

“Oh, i will drink to that!” You smile, clinking your glass against his. You take a few sips of the cold, sparkling wine, before setting the glass back on the table. The chill of the drink is a perfect contrast to the warmth of the water — and to the heat radiating from both your skin and his. You needed that to — an escape from reality.

“So…” you whisper into his ear “it’s getting really hot in this tub.” You dramatically wipe the sweat from your forehead, moving up just a little above the waterline, so that your tits are visible for him. And oh, don’t they look amazing in this setting. You know exactly what to do to make him want you even more. You catch his quick gaze moving over your water-slicked body. You can’t help but smile with satisfaction. He falls for your tricks every time, and you can’t help but love how easy it still is to catch him off guard.

“I see you’re really, really in the teasing mood today.” He shakes his head, but before you can reply, his both hands find your waist, drawing you gently towards him until you’re on his lap, face to face. His eyes move again to your boobs, his one hand reaching to your nipple.

Finally, it begins — the moment you’ve both been circling around all day.

“You don’t like it?” You ask, your voice unsteady at the end, as the sensation of his thumb against your skin makes all kinds of emotions blooming inside you.

“Oh, i do…” he smiles. “But you know what I like even more?” His thumb plays with your nipple, which immediately hardens under his touch. The other hand grips your waist so tightly, like he thinks you’re planning to run away and he needs to hold you in place. Now he won’t let you play games or tease him anymore. He has you in all your glory, and all to himself.

You feel the tension between the two of you growing thicker, and you can’t help yourself, and rub your crotch once against his thigh. The feeling is a little less intense, soften by the water, but you can still feel the muscles in his thigh tense. You move again, back and forth, this time pressing tighter against his muscle. 

“Yes, baby. Exactly make yourself ready for me.” He smiles, his face just an inch away. Then his lips meet yours in a deep, heated kiss. The sounds of the night forrest, and the gentle bubbling of the water make the perfect soundtrack for that moment. His hand goes to your other nipple, rubbing and pulling both of them now, then he squeezes the breast in his hands like it was exactly made to fit them. You feel so good already, your breath becomes heavier as you lift your hips slightly, only to lower them again and rub against his thigh again. A soft sigh leaves your lips and you grip his shoulder, closing your eyes. You’re about to do it again, and again when he pulls his leg away and the unpleasant surprise makes you grind against nothing. You can’t help but groan in dissatisfaction at the lack of friction, but it only brings a smug smile to his face. He can’t pass up any opportunity to see how much you want him. Not someone else - him.

“Who’s teasing who now?” He whispers, brushing his lips against yours, but before he kisses you, he grabs you firmly by the waist with both hands and sits you back on his thigh. His hands move to your hips, gripping them tightly. He starts moving you, setting a rhythm of you rubbing against his thigh. You get it. He wants to be in charge. He wants to be the one that gives you this pleasure. His fingers are digging into your sensitive skin, but it’s a kind of pain that you actually like. 

“You like that, huh?” He murmurs in that low voice of his — the one he knows drives you crazy, the same tone he uses on stage. Like other things he sometimes does on stage on purpose, knowing that you’re watching him from the backstage, rubbing your legs together, waiting for him to come and fuck you in a small bathroom or his dressing room. You don’t even want to think about how many questionable places you’ve done it in, unable to stop yourself until you get back to the hotel. “My little slut.” He smiles. “Just my leg is enough to turn you on.” He’s so proud of himself. And he should.

You bite your lip, half embarrassed by how true his words are, half aroused by the way he talks to you, the way he moves and the way he looks. You know your body is reacting even more strongly after being apart for the past few weeks. And you enjoy every touch that you have missed so much these weeks. 

He puts his hand on your pussy, and taps it a few times. Not expecting such a move, a shiver runs through your spine and a quiet moan falls from your lips.

“I will take care of this in a minute.” He places his other hand on your cheek, then pulls you closer to kiss you again. This time more aggressively, pressing against your wet lips. His hand moves to your hair, and his every movement shows you how much he needs you here and now. When he finally breaks away from you for a moment, he whispers against your lips:

“But first, we have to do something about this heat…” you furrow your brows, having absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. 

You don’t see where his hand is reaching, but he leaves your mouth for a moment, reaching behind him and looking in that direction. You squeeze his arm, as if you were afraid his lips would never return to yours, as if this were the end of what had begun so beautifully.

But it’s just a few seconds and he turns around and his lips reach your exposed collarbone. 

But it’s not just his lips. The sensation almost takes your breath away. He holds an ice cube between his lips, sliding it along your collarbone and then your shoulder. The feeling is perfect — his warm, soft lips contrasting with the hard, slippery and cold ice cube. You sigh into his ear, focusing all your attention on his every movement, as he trails his lips down your chest. The ice quickly melts in his heated mouth, leaving a wet trail down your body. 

“Joost… if you keep doing that I will come just from this.” You say, sighing softly. Your voice is already weak, and you haven’t done anything yet. You grab his forearm, not knowing whether you want to stop him or encourage him to do more.

He doesn’t respond — but he doesn’t stop either. You don’t want him to stop, but God, this feeling is almost too much to bear. You try to calm the fire he awakened in you, but you’re already too far gone. You’re going crazy over each movement of his lips. You want more, you want him to not leave a single milimeter of your body out, you want a trail of cool water to cover your entire body.

Finally the ice cube melts completely, and his lips, hovering over your breast, reach for your nipple to place a cool kiss on it.

“Does that feel good?” He whispers, and his lips reach a little higher, to your shoulder, to touch your skin there as well. His lips are still wet and cold from the ice cube. 

Oh, and there’s that voice again. That low, sexy voice of his only adds to the fire already burning inside you. 

“Yes.” You say, your own voice weak and slightly pathetic. You can hear the request for more in it. Or not, not a request — a plea. You don’t just want more. You need more.

“Sit on the edge of the tub.” He commands, and when you don’t do it, he grabs your waist with both hands to help you sit on the edge of the tub. He’s just as impatient as you. “Come on” you can see in his eyes that he already has a whole plan for how this night will go, and you have no choice but to listen to him. 

You try to sit as comfortably as possible on the narrow edge of the bathtub. You feel the cold night air mixing with the warm steam rising from the surface of the hot tub water. He reaches for another ice cube and places it between his lips, then gently reaches it to the inside of your thigh, just above your knee. You already know what’s on his mind, and just the anticipation of it makes you bite your lip almost until it bleeds. You’re not ready for what hes about to do, but at the same time, you’ve never been more ready.

He places both hands on your knees, forcing you to open your legs further. You look at him, biting your lip. He uses one hand to brush away the wet hair sticking to his face and adjust the ice cube in his mouth, then reaches his lips to your thigh again, this time higher, where the skin is even more sensitive. His icy lips contrast with your warm, wet thighs and make your skin break out in goosebumps under his touch. You grip the edge of the tub tightly in your hands, taking deep breath after deep breath as his lips move higher and higher. There are no words to describe what you feel inside. Each of his movements brings more sensation than the last. You feel yourself melting just like the cube in his mouth, which is now getting dangerously close to your crotch. 

You know where this is going, and you really hope the intensity of the upcoming sensations doesn’t make you fall of the edge of the tub. 

His lips come closer to your hand, making both your breath and your heart quicken.You run your wet fingers through your own hair, and look down biting your lips even though you know perfectly well that the sight alone could knock you off your feet. You see his lips slowly moving, his light, damp hair sticking to the back of his neck, his fingers tightening around your neck. He doesn’t look at you — he’s too busy intensifying your pleasure. You admire him, you want to tangle your fingers in his soft hair, but you’re afraid that when his lips finally reach their target you’ll lose your balance and fall, so you cling to the edge of the tub.

His lips continue to move, making you sigh here and there, until he finally drops the ice cube into the water, unable to wait any longer. His icy lips reach your clit and your body moves completely uncontrollably, your fingers gripping the edge of the tub even tighter.

“Oh God” you whisper, tilting your head back. His wet, cold tongue sends a shot of pleasure through your body.

Your fingers reach for his blonde hair. You lower your head to look at him, wanting to see his head move, his fingers tightening on your thighs. His fingertips go white from how hard he presses them into the soft skin of your thighs. You lick your lips. You wish he could stay like this forever, doing what he’s doing now. His tongue slides up and down your slit, as you try to relax and let go of the pressure you put on the edge of the tub. 

Oh, how good this feels. You don’t know you’ll ever be able to let him go on tour alone again. From now on, he’ll have to do this with his lips every day. 

He finds your sweet spot and gently nudges it with his tongue. You slide down the tub a little, completely losing your ability to sit upright. That’s more than sure — you won’t be able to take it in that position. It’s too much — too much emotion, too much sensation, too much of him — too much to be able to keep sitting like this.

“Hold on to my shoulder” he says quickly, pausing for a short moment, but then immediately returning his tongue to where it belongs.

“Mhh” something leaves your mouth, but you can’t call it a word. Your mind is completely blank, you can’t form any sensible thought that would be anything other than delight at what his tongue is doing between your legs right now.

You grip his shoulder with your fingers, trying to regain your balance. Still, focusing on squeezing his arm feels like too much work for your bliss-soaked mind right now.

His tongue keeps going through your folds, and you try to focus on not falling from the edge of the tub, while at the same time enjoying the pleasure that permeates you, but your position makes it difficult for you to completely surrender to the pleasure and let him bring you to climax.

“Relax, baby” he says, lifting his head. “You’re not gonna fall.” He looks at you from between your legs — that’s where you like to see him the most.

Well… also above you. 

Or in front of you…

Anywhere, to be very honest.

You put your hand on his cheek, still unable to say anything coherent. 

“Or do you want me to fuck you already?” He says, smiling, leaving another small kiss on your thigh, then lightly nipping the skin of your thigh. He can’t tear his lips away from your body for even a moment today. 

You nod your head, and he slowly stands up, though he seems a little dissatisfied that his lips didn’t manage to bring you to an orgasm. He helps you change your position. He bends you over the edge of the hot tub. This sudden reverse of dominance makes you even more horny. 

For a short while, he does nothing, completely captivated by the way your body looks against the water. Bubbles dance around your butt cheeks, and he just stands there, unable to take his eyes away. He could write a whole song about how perfect your ass is. and that water sound in the background could be the beat. He’d like to remember this idea after tonight is over. 

“Ekhm” you remind him of what he should be doing, breaking him out of his fantasies. Although, if you knew what he was fantasizing about, maybe your reaction would be different. 

“Right” he says, but he doesn’t come closer to you or grab your waist. “Give me a minute. I’m really thirsty.” You look back to see why it’s taking so long and you see him grabbing the half-empty bottle of champagne from the table. Before you know what he’s about to do, he lifts the bottle up and pours some of the champagne onto your back and your butt. 

“You’re insane! I see that you really missed while you were on tour.” you laugh, as you feel his lips on your lower back, just above your ass, then his tongue licking the alcohol from your body. “are we shooting a music video today?” You don’t stop giggling. Sometimes it’s amazing how your thoughts revolve around similar topics — even though you’re both ashamed to admit it. 

“I would never let anyone watch it. No one deserves this view. Even I don’t deserve it.” 

“You’re crazy” you chuckle as you feel his lips on your butt cheeks. “Does it taste better this way?”

“Of course it fucking does. You taste better than anything in the world.” He says, his lips still a few inches from your body, and you feel a blush creep up your cheeks. Finally, he grabs your waist with both hands and straightens up. 

His hand reaches to your clit, now incredibly wet, and not from the hot tub water. You can almost sense the huge smile appearing on his face.

“So fucking hot” he leans down and whispers in your ear, pushing your hair over one shoulder so he can have better access to your neck. “I wish I could do this every day” his hand grabs the back of your neck, his fingers tightening slightly at your sides, making you bend over even more.

He breathes out and you can feel his fingers tighten around your neck even more. You feel the familiar feeling in your stomach, you can’t help it, but when he becomes so bold and dominant with you like this it turns you on so much it’s hard to stand still. You arch your back giving him better access to your body, as you finally feel him sliding inside you. The way he presses against you, how close his wet body is to you, and his warm breath next to your ear only make it even better. You completely forget about the world around you. Now it’s just you and him. 

“So good” you whisper, as he pushes himself deeper. You tilt your head back, but his fingers on your neck push you down. 

“What? Speak louder, princess.” He speaks still with the same low, sexy voice.

“So good.” You say again, trying to speak louder, but your voice breaks at the end from the overload of emotion. You close your eyes, feeling him moving. The warm water splashes against your thighs and your stomach, and feel his hand loosen the grip on your neck and then moving to your hip. He lifts his other hand to sleep your butt with a loud smak amplified by the water.

He speeds up his movements, giving you the rhythm. You move your hips along, the sound of skin slapping against skin and the water splashing fills the silence around you, covering up your soft moans.

You hear him gasp for breath and swear quietly, as you arch your back even further, allowing him to enjoy the view even more. Your hands grip the edge of the tub, the movements of your hips following his rhythm. His hand reaches for the nape of your neck again, but then moves even higher, to your hair, taking a handful of it in his hand to tug at it and force you to arch even further. His other hand unexpectedly lands on your butt once more, making you moan loudly. Your head tilted all the way back, you can almost see his face.

You follow his rhythm and for a long moment you’re both a mess of sighs and moans. You feel your strength starting to drain, but you don’t allow yourself to slow down. You feel he’s close when his hand pulls harder on your hair, and the other hand squeezes your butt almost painfully. 

He’s moving so fast now that the water is splashing everywhere, tickling your Harden nipples, your lips, and getting in your eyes, making you squeeze them shut. 

He pulls his dick out of you only second before he cums, and you feel him the warm trickles of his sperm landing on your buttocks and lower back. You know perfectly well that he just wants to admire his hard work for a moment. You don’t mind, you don’t mind at all. You could go on like this for hours if it wasn’t for the uncomfortable position over the tub. But you can’t get enough of him.

Not even a minute passes before his hand reaches to your clit, patting it several times.

“Come on, baby. Come for me too.” He grabs a fistful of your hair again as he brings you to your peak. You moan his name loudly, feeling your body convulse, but he doesn’t stop, letting you ride this wave of pleasure. You don’t need much, the touch of his lips, his deep thrusts inside you were more than enough to make you come.

You both breathe heavily, when he finally helps you stand up, and then sit inside of the tub and put your head on his shoulder. He sits down next to you and you immediately rest your head on his shoulder. You suddenly feel a surge of exhaustion, as if this crazy evening has completely drained you. Now you long for nothing more than the comfort of his arms. 

“I think we will have to come here more often.” He says, chuckling, but his voice sounding tired too. “or buy a tub like this. The way your butt moves in that water…” He shakes his head as if he couldn’t find the words to describe it. You look at him and see everything in his eyes — love, devotion, admiration. All of this lives within him, right alongside that animalistic attraction he feels for you. He truly gives you everything and more than you could ask for. 

“Yes. Please” you answer, nodding your head. Maybe that’s not such a good idea. You might consider quitting your job just to spend all days in that tub fucking with him. 

Well… does that sound bad?

“Aren’t you cold?” He asks, his fingers lightly rub your exposed arm. The water is not so warm anymore.

“No, but I can feel it’s very cold outside. I’ll probably get cold soon. Let’s get out of here before we catch a cold.” He jumps out of the tub, and dries himself with a white hotel towel. Then, he puts on a white, fluffy bathrobe, tying it at the waist. He gives you his hand. You watch him with your lower lip tucked between your teeth. You can’t help it, anything he does is sexy to you. 

You grab his hand and he helps you out of the water. His gaze roams over your body, completely captivated. 

“You look…” he says, and you come closer to him and close the distance between you pressing your lips against his. You can’t have enough of him. Even if he just brought you over the edge, you might end up fucking on the couch in a minute too. Your hunger for his body seems never to be satisfied.

He grabs your butt and squeezes it in his hands, as you wrap your hands around his neck, gently stroking the sensitive skin on the back of his neck.

“So, i see we are not done for today yet?” He whispers into your mouth, and you swear you saw a spark in his eye.

You just smile at his words. You missed him so much during that time he was gone. You couldn’t go on tour with him, so now that you finally have him by your side again, you want to make the most of this time — as close to him as possible. It’s not just about sex and physical closeness, but also feeling his presence, listening to his jokes, watching how excited he gets when he talks about something that’s important to him, or how he smiles and nods his head while listening to what you have to say like no one else.

But you also want that physical closeness. All the time. As close as possible. You would crawl inside his skin if you could. 

You feel him slapping your ass once again, and biting his lips as he looks at you one last time before taking the towel from the table.

You just stand there as he slowly dries your hair, arms, breasts and stomach with the towel. The cold wind makes you shiver slightly and you can’t wait to be with him in that warm, cozy house again. 

Once you’re dry, you pick up your robe from the ground and put it on, then you both head into the apartment. It’s getting really cold outside.

There’s a fireplace in the living room, so while he lights the fire, you open a bottle of white wine that’s been chilling in the fridge while you were… busy. The mood is perfect for getting just a little bit drunk and completely shedding your embarrassment. Who knows what might happen after a few sips of alcohol?

Finally, you hear the familiar sound of the crackling wood in the fireplace and before you know it, you feel him standing right behind you, resting his head on your shoulder.

He hugs you from behind and you smile, enjoying the warmth that radiates from his body. You pour two glasses of wine and feel his hand getting dangerously close to the edge of your bathrobe, only to slip behind it a moment later. 

“I think you don’t really need that.” He whispers, as his hand slides up your thigh, his fingertips touching the exposed inches of your skin. Then he reaches for the knot in your robe to loosen it and then untie it. He slowly slides the bathrobe down your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. You’ve only just finished, and he’s already igniting a new desire within you. 

He rests his hands on the counter on either side of you and you feel his body press harder against you. His lips ghost over your neck. He’s more than ready for more.

You take the two glasses of wine, and turn to face him. 

“First, let’s have a glass. Then… there are so many places in this apartment where you can fuck me” you whisper.

The friends’ vacation almost never makes it past the group chat. You plan, decide on the best place for everyone, share all the things you would love to do, all the places you would want to visit. But then work gets in the way, someone doesn’t have money, someone else hates the chosen spot — and then it just doesn’t happen.

But not with this group of friends. You started planning it — what — two months ago? And now here you are, all of you, standing in front of one of the huge billboards on a busy street in Tokyo. 

You had a lot of things planned, but you made sure to leave space for the best kind of spontaneity — late nights out, drinks, and just walking the crowded streets. You loved that part. Especially with these people.

Time slipped through your fingers. Two weeks ago you were packing your bags, full of excitement, and now you only have a few days left to make this trip unforgettable. It kind of already is — but you know you have to make the most of these last days.

The weather was surprisingly warm for May, almost like summer, but after the long, gray winter back in the Netherlands, you were happy to feel the heat again. 

You adjust your hat, squinting up at the sky, then look over at your friends. 

You’re waiting for a taxi to take you to the hotel — after hours of walking, your legs feel like lead, and the sun has took every last bit of energy out of you. You desperately need a good shower. The moment you slide into the back seat of the cab, you’re hit with a rush of crisp, cool air. You sigh, grateful. It’s the kind of relief that feels perfect after a long day.

“Where’s Joost?” You ask, raising your brow as the car begins to move. You hadn’t noticed when he left the group.

“He had some appointment or something. I don’t know — he didn’t share the details. Why? Do you miss him already?” Bryan replies, wiggling his eyebrows in that exaggerated, teasing way.

Somehow, over the course of this trip, you and Joost have become a favorite target. You’re not sure if it’s because of something one of you said or did, or if your friends just needed a new “victim” to tease.

You liked him, obviously. How could you not? He was a great friend. Funny, thoughtful, tall, blonde and honestly handsome in that effortlessly cool, artsy kind of way. He didn’t chase after the typical masculine style, didn’t need to. He treated women with respect, held conversations that actually meant something, and he seemed genuinely in touch with his emotions. Technically, he had everything you liked. 

But it had always been just friendship. Long-standing and uncomplicated. There’d never been a spark, or at least not one you allowed yourself to notice. You assumed he felt the same. Maybe you both did. Maybe that’s what made it work so well all these years. Or maybe you just never stopped to question it until now.

Somehow, during this trip, your friends decided the two of you were secretly in love — and made you the punchline of every joke. It seemed insane at first, but over time, you started wondering if it really did look like that. You started pulling back, creating space. Not because Joost had done anything, but because the constant jokes made you hyper-aware of every shared glance, every casual interaction. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable — or worse, embarrass yourself.

Each night, back at the hotel, you found yourself trying to figure out where it all came from, running the same questions through your head. Do I like him? Could this be something? Should we even go there… or would that ruin everything?

The idea seemed absolutely ridiculous — you’d never sensed a single sign from him that he might be interested in being anything more than friends. And you? You were never interested in anything beyond friendship either.

Unless…

No, stop. Unless nothing. You don’t want to lose a solid, easy friendship. You don’t want to risk it for a one-night stand you’d both regret or some other stupid mistake. It’s good the way it is, and they are just messing with your head. You won’t let it get to you.

“Are we going for karaoke tonight?” Julia’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts about Joost. You blush a little, realizing how lost you’d been in your head — you almost worry they might’ve somehow heard your thoughts.

“Oh, yes. I have to take a shower first, though.” You reply, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah, obviously. I can make a reservation for us. 8 pm?” She looks around, checking for nods and approval from the rest.

You nod your head.

You get to the hotel — luckily, there was a mix-up and you ended up with a big room all to yourself. For a while, you scroll through photos from the day, adjusting lighting, adding filters, laughing quietly at the candid shots your friends. Then scrolling through TikToks. Who doesn’t love a little bed-rotting after a busy day? 

You love sightseeing, but you have to admit — you love the comfort of a soft bed after a full day on your feet just as much, if not more.

Time passes and eventually you pull yourself up and head to the shower. The warm water  soothes your skin, the scent of the shower gel calming your senses. Just as you step out, wrapped in a soft towel, there’s a knock on the door.

You raise your brows. It’s probably Julia, or someone else from the group, so you don’t bother changing. With your hair still wet, and the towel knotted at your chest, you open the door slightly — just enough to see who it is.

“Oh… Joost,” you say, a little surprised by his presence. You were sure he had something going on, that you wouldn’t see him until karaoke. 

He stands there, slightly awkward, his gaze going up and down just once before he quickly refocuses on your face.

“Hey… sorry, am I interrupting?” He asks, looking a bit confused as his eyes take in your current “outfit”. And suddenly, the towel feels a little too thin.

“No, no… sorry, I just got out of the shower” you say, looking at him apologetically. You suddenly feel a little stupid — after all, the only thing between you and being completely naked is a fluffy hotel towel. “You can come in.” You say, opening the door wider. Not because you particularly want him to, but because standing in the hallway like this feels worse. You really don’t want anyone catching sight of the two of you talking while you’re barely dressed. They’re already making assumptions over nothing — you can’t imagine the comments if they saw this.

He steps inside, and you close the door behind him.

“Wait a minute… did you dye your hair?” You ask, watching him step deeper into the room. You get a better look at him in the light coming through the window.

His hair, once bleached nearly white, now fades into a blue ombre — from white at the roots, bright blue to deep navy at the tips. You’re not sure how you feel about it. It’s bold and unexpected, the mullet cut paired with this intense color— but if anyone could pull it off, it was him. 

“Do you like it?” He asks with a smile. You get the feeling he was waiting for you to notice.

You take a longer look. You liked his light blonde hair, but this felt more like him—matching his personality, and his unique music and art style. And it made his piercing blue eyes stand out even more.

“I do.” You say, smiling. “For some reason it’s so you.” You keep the distance, sitting on the bed, making sure that the towel covers everything it should.

He chuckles.

“Maybe.” He replies.

You both stay silent for a few minutes, until he seems to remember why he came in the first place.

“Oh — can you send me the pictures you took today? I would like to post something on my story.” 

Something about that feels off — like the pictures are just a convenient excuse. Maybe he really just wanted to show you his new hair.

“Oh… yeah, sure.” You grab your phone from the bed and scroll through to find his photos.

He settles beside you on the bed, shoulder brushing close as you both scroll through the photos. He leans in a little more to get a better look at the screen, and his cologne hits your nose - warm and a little intoxicating.

He’s so close - and you’re still just in that goddamn towel. It feels dangerous, somehow.

You sense a shift in the air, your cheeks warming. Quickly, you drop your gaze back to the screen. 

What is it? Is it the fact that his arm is so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body? Is it the smell of his cologne — warm, woodsy, him? Is it the fact that you’re wearing almost nothing?

Do you actually like him?

“So, these are the ones?” You ask, selecting the pictures to airdrop. You hope your voice sounds natural, trying to ignore whatever is happening inside of you.

“Yeah, those. And thank you” his voice seems lower than usual, and he’s so close to your ear, that a shiver runs down your spine. 

You lift your head, slowly, to meet his eyes. His arm lightly brushes yours, and you lick your lips — suddenly, the air in the room feels hotter than the water in your shower earlier. 

You wonder what he’s thinking. His eyes are darker now, pupils wide, lips slightly parted like he was just about to say something — or maybe not. Maybe he’s just feeling something. 

What is this? 

You both stare at each other for a moment longer. For a second too long. You catch his gaze flick to your lips the moment you lick them. Then he’s back, looking into your eyes again.

The intensity of his gaze makes you uncomfortable, so you get up. You think that if you stay there, you might end up kissing him — and that wouldn’t be very smart, right? Especially given what you’re wearing.

“Erm… I’ll get ready. Let’s meet at the karaoke?” You say. You don’t want to sound like you’re throwing him out, but it kind of comes off that way. 

Maybe that’s exactly what needs to happen

And anyway, it’s true — you do need to get ready. 

*

Shibuya, in person looks exactly as big and colorful as in the videos and pictures. Hundreds of neon signs, colorful billboards and screens, thousands of people crossing the street. Many of them dressed in completely eccentric styles.

And you — right in the middle of it all. You try to look everywhere at once, to take it all in,  the sound, the motion, the energy. You want to somehow store this view in your memory — because who knows if you’ll ever be back? 

You got to the place early, so you decide to get a couple of beers at a nearby bar. You’re not complaining — you’re not the best singer, and karaoke always feels like a gamble between fun and mild humiliation. You’re already running through a mental list of easy songs — the ones that won’t make you sound like a dying cat in front of your friends. Or maybe something ridiculous enough that no one even cares how it sounds.

You’ve never been to a karaoke like this before. The only ones you’ve experienced were the drunken karaoke nights in bars — where tipsy students shouted lyrics more than sang them, and the whole bar joined in for the chaos. But you were always a part of the crowd. Public performances? Being on stage? No way.

Still, you don’t want to be the party pooper tonight, so you’ve decided — you’re going to take part.

Your friends couldn’t be more different. Well — not all of them. But the guys? They live for this kind of things. Screaming into microphones, picking the most ridiculous songs, arguing dramatically about whose turn it is next. 

You’ve known them long enough to know what kind of absolute circus is about to unfold. But honestly? As much as you’d never admit it to them, you kind of love it.

The moment you walk in, they’re already digging through the costumes, trying on the wildest hats and wigs. You and Julia shake your heads in disbelief — it really does feel like traveling with a group of overgrown kids sometimes.

“Did you choose already?” Bryan grins, adjusting the pirate hat on his head like it’s the peak of fashion.

“Yeah, no way I’m wearing that” she says, shaking her head.

“I am though” you say, surprising even yourself.

Maybe it’s the beer. Maybe it’s the guys’ infectious excitement. Either way you find yourself looking through the costumes too. You don’t feel like changing clothes, so you settle on a blue wig with ponytails and a matching tie. You’re not sure if it’s a character from a manga or anime — and honestly, you don’t really care. 

All that matters Is that it looks cute, and it’ll make for some fun photos.

Julia finally gives in and picks out a hat — nothing too wild, just enough to say fine, I’m playing too. The guys are still in full chaos mode, layering on more accessories like it’s a competition— Joost is already wearing a hat, oversized glasses and a giant fake dollar-sign necklace.

“It’s like kids in a candy store” you comment, chuckling. 

You finally enter the room — it’s already filled with snacks. A girl from the bar comes in to explain how everything works: how to choose songs, how to start and stop them, how to order drinks if you need more. 

You’re not sure about the others, but the first thing you do is ordering a drink — you know you’ll need more than one before you’re brave enough to sing.

“Let’s get started” one of your friends says, scrolling through the “Last Played” song list.

“I like the hair” you don’t even notice Joost coming closer until he’s suddenly standing next to you, his arm slightly brushing yours. Damn — it’s the second time today, and again it stirs that strange feeling in your stomach.

“Oh, thanks” you smile. You try to sound casual, but you’re not sure how well you’re pulling it off.

“It matches mine” he smiles. You look at him, and for a second, you catch something in his expression — as if he’s genuinely happy you chose this color. His color. Well, almost his color — his blue hair tips are way darker, but still, both are shades of blue. 

“You think?” You ask, fingers lightly brushing over the silky strands of the wig.

He looks at you, as if he wanted to ask you something. There’s a question in his eyes, something unreadable but intense. Has he always looked at you like this? And you’re only noticing now because your friends planted the idea?

Or… did something actually change during this trip? 

But as quickly as the moment builds, he lets it go. He turns away and calls across the room:

“It’s your turn, Bryan! Come on, show us what you got.” 

He as Bryan selects YMCA. This might get interesting.

The rest of the evening goes perfectly — everyone’s singing, drinking, and having fun. You give a strong performance of I need a hero which makes you regret that there wasn’t a Fairy Godmother costume from Shrek. Later you belt out Spice Girls with all the guys —arms around each other, voices blending into one. Performing turns out to be a lot better than you expected — especially with the guys cheering you on, no matter how off-key you might be.

The night goes a little too well, Bryan ends up passed out on the table, completely drunk — you didn’t even notice when he got that far gone. 

“I have to take him home.” Julia says, sighing. "I knew that last drink would be too much for him.” She rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed that he didn’t listen.

“I can help you.” You offer, glancing at Bryan — his face slumped on the table, lips slightly parted. 

“No, the guys already offered help. We’ll take him back and you and Joost can stay — there’s like half an hour left, so sing something fun!” She says quickly, already grabbing Bryan’s things.

“Come on, Julia. I’ll help you — I want to make sure he’s okay” you say, frowning. You feel slightly excluded, but more than that, something about it feels… planned.

She glances at her phone and then back at you.

“Actually, the taxi’s already here. Thank you, baby” she smiles.

You watch Julia and the other guys lift Bryan up. He’s completely wasted — or at least it seems that way. His head slumps forward, resting awkwardly on his chest, and his eyes remain closed — completely unbothered by the events around him.

“Are you sure? Maybe we should go with you. There’s still room in the taxi.” You offer, concern in your voice.

“No,  really — there’s no need. Just enjoy the karaoke” she replies quickly, already halfway out the door as they shuffle with nearly-unconscious Bryan between them. Before you can say anything else, the door closes behind them, leaving you and Joost alone in the room.

You stand there awkwardly, looking at Joost, while the music to an Abba song plays softly in the background, but there’s no one singing it.

You can’t shake off the feeling that they planned this all along. Now you’re alone with Joost, practically forced into a one-on-one conversation. After all the comments they made earlier it feels more than a little suspicious. Not that you’re complaining… but still, the coincidence is hard to ignore. You’re alone with Joost.

“What do you think about them constantly trying to set us up?” He chuckles. “They’re not even trying to be subtle anymore.”

“I know.” You sigh “Well… sometimes those comments make me a little uncomfortable. It’s like… I don’t know why they’re pushing so hard. If we wanted to do something, we would.” You shrug, avoiding his gaze. Even though you’ve known each other for a long time, it doesn’t make this conversation any easier. Or maybe it even makes it even harder.

“So you don’t?” He asks, his voice quieter now.

“Don’t… what?” You frown, surprised by his question. You really don’t like the way this conversation is going, and you wish you could just skip it — the questions from your friends were enough of a torture.

“You don’t think we want to do something with this?” He adds.

“Erm… i don’t?” You say, but you’re not convinced and it comes off more as a question than an answer. “Do you?” 

He looks at you with an unreadable expression. You can’t tell what he’s thinking - and he doesn’t even answer your question. Instead, he hands you the microphone. 

“Come on. It’s your last chance.” He says, encouraging you.

You scroll through the song list, but the words on the screen blur together. Your mind is somewhere else entirely, looping back to what he just said — or more accurately, what he didn’t say.

Does he want to do something with that? If so, what does he want? Just to sleep with you? Ask you out? Or maybe… nothing at all?

“I think you need help.” He comes over, takes away the microphone and picks a song. You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling as you join in. He couldn’t look more stupid than singing “Oops I did it again”, but you can’t deny he’s a performer. Even here, in a small room, with only you as an audience.

You’re having fun with him, you can’t lie. You like the way he smiles, the way he jumps around like a kid while singing, and the childish jokes he throws in now and then.

But the idea that he might be into you? That never crossed your mind. You always saw him as someone out of your league — not because of his looks, but because of his fame, social status and the fact that he was always surrounded by well-known people. You assumed he had so many women around that he would never be interested in you. 

And it’s not that you had low self esteem, or thought you weren’t good enough or cool enough. You just figured he would prefer someone who lived the same lifestyle — not a regular girl with a regular job. 

You also had always thought he was too busy with his career, his art, and his own projects. He never really talked much about love or relationships. He never shared much about that part of his life — a private side, you assumed. But maybe it wasn’t privacy at all. Maybe there just wasn’t much happening there. Now that you think about it, it seems obvious that he just didn’t go out with girls very often.

Damn, for someone who “never considered it” you sure have thought about it A LOT. Maybe you really are to stupid to notice if you like him and needed your friends’ help to take the next step. You glance at him, and he’s looking at you, smiling.

You wonder if he knows he planted that seed in your mind, and if he’s thinking about it right now.

You look at him again — his hair catching the vibrant glow of the karaoke lights, his eyes lighting up as he sigs, the little dimple appearing every time he smiles, or laughs. Your arm brushes his, and you feel the moment. Just a few words from him have already changed everything between you. The atmosphere has shifted and there’s no going back now — only deeper into this new, unknown territory.

His hand slides gently reaching to your waist, tentative, yet confident, and you don’t resist. You don’t encourage it either, but you want to see what happens, to see what he does next. The next song is already playing, but you barely notice because with one, quick movement he pulls you closer, your chest touches his.

Your eyes meet as his hand finds the small of your back, pushing you gently against him. You freeze, unsure if you want this, if this is how you want it, or if it should even happen. But you don’t stop it — you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it before.

But none of this matters now, because without asking for permission, he leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

Your body stops, eyes searching his, caught between surprise and uncertainty — should you lean in or step back?

“What are you doing?” Your voice is barely a whisper. 

His expression shifts — a flush of shame coloring his cheeks as he looks away. The vulnerability in his eyes betrays the surprise of your reaction. 

“I thought you…” he mumbles.

“Hey” you say, lifting his chin so he looks into your eyes again.

He meets your gaze, though with less confidence this time. You smile softly and press a small, delicate kiss to his lips.

He takes it as a permission. His hand trails lightly over the fabric of your t-shirt, warm and tentative. You place one hand on his arm, and let him draw closer for another kiss. His lips meet yours again — hungry, urgent — like he’s been wanting this for years. His nose touches yours, and his blonde mustache tickles your skin. The anticipation stirs a new hunger inside you.

His tongue enters your mouth, and you close your eyes, letting your own tongue join the dance. You stay in that moment longer than you expected, unaware that you’re slowly guiding him toward the sofa behind the snack table as your tongues brush together.

You pause briefly and he sinks onto the sofa, gazing up at you with a soft smile.

“You look amazing.” he says, looking up at you. “that blue wig suits you perfectly.”

“I love your hair.” You whisper, a soft smile curving your lips as your fingers weave gently through the ombre strands.

There isn’t much room left, so you shift to settle on one of his thighs. He brushes aside some strands of the synthetic wig, his gaze lingering on your face like he wants to memorize every detail.

Without warning, he pulls you back into a deep, hungry kiss, his tongue parting your lips, demanding entrance. His hands go to your hips, steadying you, while your fingers lose themselves in the tangled mess of his hair. The heat between you grows with every second — your hips pressed to his thigh, every heartbeat stretching the tension tighter, daring to cross the line.

“We should move this somewhere else” he breathes inside your lips.

“Mhm…” you mumble, barely hearing him. You’re too caught in the heat of it all — in the press of his body, in the way your pulse stumbles every time his hands tighten at your hips. Your body begins to move on its own, rocking gently against his thigh. You silently thank your past self for choosing a skirt tonight. The only barrier between you and him is barely-there lace — and the rough texture of his jeans beneath you is impossible to ignore. Your eyes flutter closed. In this moment, you surrender completely — not to him, but to the gravity that seems to pull you toward something inevitable.

“What are you doing?” He whispers inside your ear, while you feel pulsing desire between your legs. You desperately need more of him, the thin fabric of your panties is digging into your pussy. How did you get so horny so quickly? You feel your cheeks growing hot. You arch your back, pushing your crotch against his thigh. Every move makes you lose yourself more in desire, but you still want more.

At this point you can feel your panties are all wet, you know you shouldn’t do it here, but you lost all self control. His hands move carefully under your skirt. He puts them both on your buttocks, squeezing them in his hands. It only adds to the overwhelming craving you’re already feeling for him. You lean forward, your forehead brushing against his as your fingers grip the back of his neck, steadying yourself. You feel the urgency building, his touch only fueling the fire inside you.

“You don’t like it?” You tease, faking a pout, your eyes wide with passion. You already know the answer — but hearing it from him is what fuels you even more.

“Oh, i don’t just like it… I love it.” He breaths into your ear, one hand tightening around your hip as he helps you guide your rhythm. 

You sigh, feeling a familiar sensation building between your legs. You’re willing to risk it all, do anything with him here. You don’t care that it’s a public place. In fact, it only adds to your desire. You’re about to reach for the belt on his pants, but a knock on the door sobers you up.

You jump off Joost’s lap, completely pulled out of the intimate moment between the two of you. The girl from the bar steps inside, and lets you know that your time is up, but you can purchase more if you’d like.

You feel your cheeks flush, your lips still shiny from the kiss. You look at him — his hair is a mess, his pupils still blown wide. You’re pretty sure she knows what just happened here — maybe that’s even why she came in. 

Maybe they have cameras — no, of course there are cameras. The thought crashes into your mind like a cold splash, something you hadn’t considered before giving in to the moment. Had they been watching? Had someone seen the way you kissed him like you were starving? Just the thought of it makes you bite your cheek.

But then you think — you would love to watch it too. You imagine a black-and-white, low-quality footage of you grinding hungrily on his thigh, his hands on your hips, your mouths locked in a desperate kiss. The memory alone makes the pulse between your legs throb again, a cruel reminded of what you were just pulled away from.  Instinctively, you press your thighs together for a relieve, and you catch Joost watching, his eyes flickering with want before quickly looking away. 

You step out the room, the blue wig still crooked on your head, your eyes never leaving Joost. You could have stayed inside, but moving it somewhere else was definitely the safer option.

What should you do now? Continue what you started? Go to the hotel and have sex? Go to the hotel and never speak of what just happened? Go for a walk instead? 

You have no idea how to proceed. You stand there, with wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and a head full of thoughts you don’t want to share with anyone.

He stands so close beside you that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You steal a glance at him, wondering if his thoughts are the same — the awkward hesitation, the uncertainty of what comes next. And most of all: does he want there to be a next?

“I have to give this back” you finally say, pointing to the wig. But when you look around, you don’t see any of the staff.

“What if you don’t? I like the way it looks” he says quietly, though you’re the only ones there.

“Are you telling me to steal it?” You ask, rising your eyebrows. 

“Umm… i guess? If we start running now, who will know you took it?” He smiles — and in that moment, he looks like the boy you met years ago.

You share a quick glance, and with some unspoken understanding, you both start running — bursting out of the karaoke place and into the Tokyo night. You don’t stop there; you keep running down the street, hands locked together, weaving through the crowd, stealing glances at each other to silently agree on which way to turn. You bump into a few people, but there’s no time to apologize.

You finally stop in a quiet side street, your heart pounding in your chest. You bend over slightly, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath.

“Oh my god” you say, between gasps. “This is the first time I’ve ever stolen something” you chuckle. “And you made me do it!”

“Really?” He asks, genuinely surprised. “Not even a candy bar from a supermarket?”

You shake your head as a “no”. He steps closer to you, finally catching his breath, and adjusts the blue wig on your head.

“It was worth it though. It matches your outfit. I’m sorry I led you down the criminal path.” He chuckles, his face now inches closer, the glow of neon lights dancing in his eyes. He looks so beautiful — had he always looked like that? Or did Japan, and your little moment in the karaoke room, somehow made him more attractive? 

“You’d look perfect in anything though.” He adds. “I liked that towel on you today, too. I think even more than the wig.” He flashes you a cheeky smile.

You feel a blush creeping into your cheeks — you hadn’t expected those kinds of words from him. Yes, you kissed — well, almost fucked — but now what? Are you heading in the direction of being a couple? What is going on? You thought it would lean more toward a friends-with-benefits situation, but what if he actually likes you?

“What now?” You breath out right into his lips. “Do you want to go back to the hotel?” You ask.

“Well…” he murmurs, his lips brushing your neck, leaving behind a few warm, wet kisses. “Yes. I want to continue what we started.”

His words ignite something inside you, but you try to keep your cool — no need to ruin the moment.

He orders an Uber, and since the hotel is close to the center, it doesn’t take more than fifteen minutes to get there.

“We should be quiet. I can’t stand the thought of them winning and being right about us.” You chuckle. 

Joost smiles, and offers you his hand, his fingers locking with yours as he leads you to the elevator. The wig on your head slips slightly to the side, but you don’t bother to fix it. As soon as the elevator doors close, he’s all over you. His kisses trail from your jaw to your neck, and his hands slide from your hips to your tummy, then down to your ass grabbing it with hunger that makes your knees weak. 

In front of you, the elevator mirror captures everything: the way his body presses into yours, the tilt of your head as you give in, the heat building in your face. You watch it all in the reflection and somehow it only turns you on more.

“Damn boy” you whisper into his ear, as his kisses move to your collarbones. “We're just  a few seconds from the room — wait a little.” you say, as his finger is sliding up your thigh, getting dangerously close to the edge of your panties.

“Yeah?” He replies with a smirk, his voice full of confidence “You weren’t particularly patient today back in the karaoke room.” He clearly enjoys the thought — and the image of you being all over him. 

You smile just at a memory — he’s absolutely right. You weren’t. And you sure as hell are not going to be patient now either. The tip of his finger slowly climbs up your thigh, tickling your skin that is already burning with desire. He presses his fingers against your clit through the soft fabric of your underwear.

“Oh…” he says, a confident smirk on his face, when he feels how wet he already got you. “So ready for what’s about to come…”

You look at him, ready to give back a teasing response — but the elevator doors slide open. You’re lucky that it’s late and the hallway is empty, but you’re almost certain the noise the two of you are making — your laughter, your rushed footsteps — is enough to wake at least a few sleeping hotel guests behind closed doors.

The way to the room’s door is interrupted by gentle touches and fleeting kisses. You clumsily reach for the key card, but before you can open the door ad slide inside he pushes you against the wall next. His gentle kisses slowly move from your ear to your lips. One hand rests on the back of your neck, the other gently moves along your arm. Even the most delicate touch makes your breath quicken. His fingers slowly hook into the strap of your top, sliding it down your forearm and his wet kisses go down your neck, to stop at your breasts.

You barely hold the key card in your fingers, while his hand reaches under your skirt, fingers sliding up and down the thin material of your panties. Finally his fingertips softly tickle your sensitive skin, curling his fingers under the hem of your underwear to pull it to the side and run the finger through your folds. You feel your whole body coil from both desire and a fear of getting caught — by the hotel workers, or even worse — by your friends.

“So…so ready…” he whispers directly into your ear, pushing back the blue strands . His warm, wet lips brushing against your ear. “didn’t you say you don’t want anything?”

You want to say something but your mind seems to be completely clouded with his fingers still moving along your slick folds. He leaves a soft kiss in the crook between your neck and shoulder, and before you can even form a sentence, he kneels before you.

Damn, you’re still in the hallway. You can’t make the same mistake twice. There are DEFINITELY cameras here.

But it doesn’t matter anymore — or at least it doesn’t matter enough for you to be able to find the sense to stop it. But you’re not — you are too far gone now.

His teeth lightly nip at your skin then catch the hem of your panties, tugging at them with deliberate slowness. He pulls them down your thighs, helping himself with his fingers on the other side of your hips.

Can it get any better? 

You’re about to find out, when distant voices and the creak of an opening door snap you out of the moment. You quickly pull your skirt lower and with your panties just above your knees open the room door with the key pass you were still (barely) holding in your hand. 

You step into the room, the door still hanging open behind you, as you drag him along — still on his knees — across the threshold. From the hallway, it would probably look pretty ridiculous. 

You can’t help but laugh at the situation, but he cuts it off with another kiss, standing up and guiding you toward the bed.

“What if they saw us?” You ask, breaking the kiss to look at him, but he doesn’t seem bothered.

“It doesn’t matter.” He shrugs “We would give them a show”

He takes off your top, still guiding you toward the bed. You sit down, the blue wig slightly askew. You reach your hand to take it off, but his hand catches yours before you can.

“No, keep it on.”

You raise your eyebrow. Does that turn him on? Or maybe it is the fact that it’s similar to his and he likes to think that’s why you wore it?

You move to the centre of the bed, legs parting just enough to let him settle between them. He unzips his pants, leaving only his underwear. You reach for his t-shirt, and tug it over his head, your lips trail slowly from his neck, to his shoulders, planting a line of warm kisses that linger on his skin.

Joost takes off your skirt, sliding it down along with your panties in one swift motion. You’re completely naked now, sitting there on the bed. The bright blue wig is a striking contrast to the warmth in your cheeks. Your eyes, slightly glassy from emotion and anticipation, look up at him — hungry and vulnerable. 

His hand goes to your crotch, and he teases your folds with his soft fingers. You are already so turned on by what he did earlier that the slightest movement and the slightest touch makes you sigh and quiver on the bed. You move your hips forward, hungry for his touch.

“I will take care of you” he finally whispers into your ear, he reaches for your back to unclip your bra and take it off. His finger is teasing your entrance, threatening to slip in, while his lips touch the skin around your nipples. They’re are soft and a little cold, in contrast to your heated skin. He sticks out his tongue to flick your nipple, to then suck on it.

A thrill runs through you as you look at him, the view only making you more aroused. Oh, this is going to be good. Your breath quickens and your skin tingles with anticipation.

He slips one finger in, you lie down completely on the bed, the blue hair from the wig blend messily with your own hair across the pillow. At some point, your natural hair must have slipped free from the clip. But right now, tangled hair is the furthest thing from your thoughts.

His kisses move from your breasts, to your lower belly and you already know what he’s about to do. A shiver — equal parts anticipation and pleasure - runs through your body. His fingers press into your inner thigh with possessive pressure, the index finger of the other hand still curling inside you. You take shaky breaths, your chest rising and falling as you bite down gently on your lower lip.

“Joost…” you whisper, as your fingertips trace the curve of his cheek.

“Sh…” he quiets you, his head still dangerously close to your pussy, his breath warm against your skin.  “i’ll make you feel so, so good, I promise” his voice low and quiet.

“You don’t have to…” your voice fragile.

“I want to” he breathes out, looking at you for a moment.

You smile, as his lips finally reach the spot just above your slit. You can’t help it but let out a small moan, an expression of both pleasure and anticipation that took over your entire body. He hasn’t even started yet, and you’re already moaning. Before another groan leaves your mouth, his lips reach the folds between your legs. He doesn’t pull his finger out, he keeps moving it in and out, as his soft lips touch your clit.

You close your eyes, trying to give yourself into the pleasure, as he takes out his tongue, and slowly tickles your clit. You put your hand in his already messy hair, a quiet moan slips from your lips before you can hold it back. The touch of his warm, wet tongue sends shivers down your spine, the pleasure coils in your stomach and your free hand clenches on the sheet beneath you.

As you make yourself comfortable, he uses his other hand to open your pussy lips with his cold fingers. His tongue goes up and down your slit, to then suck on it, while you squirm on the bed in pleasure. Your eyes are closed, your mouth open, gasping for air between louder and louder moans, that you can’t hold back anymore. He abuses your sweet spot with his tongue, his soft hair tickles your underbelly. Oh he wasn’t lying when he said he will make you feel so good. 

You instinctively try to close your legs as the moans seem to reach an obscene level, but he pulls his finger out of you and puts his hand on your thigh, his finger warm and wet from where it just was. He forces your thighs to remain open, as he is far from done. You spread them open, giving him all the access.

He moves the finger back to where it was, and adds another, while the tip of his tongue touches all the most sensitive parts. You feel the orgasm getting closer and you’re selfishly trying to delay it, as the sensation of his tongue on your skin is way to good to end so quickly. You want to enjoy it longer and longer, all night if that’s possible. 

He spreads your thighs more, putting your feet on his back, he’s adding the third finger, curling it and stretching you out. Your moans reach the highest registers, but you don’t care, there are no thoughts in your mind, only pleasure taking over each corner of your brain. 

His fingers are moving at a crazy pace now, as you reach the peak of the pleasure, crying out his name in absolute chaos of emotions you’re in now. He doesn’t stop — he lets you ride your high, making use of his fingers and mouth, giving you all that he can. You don’t even notice when he stops pumping his fingers in and out of you, tears are running down your cheeks, your hands reach for the bed frame, gripping it so tightly that they turned white, the wig you were wearing lies completely tangled at the edge of the bed. 

You finally open your eyes and try to calm your breath a little, wiping sweat from your forehead. 

He kneels between your legs, his lips pink and shiny with your wetness, looking down at you, as you lie on the bed completely naked with your legs spread for him. You feel a light blush creep onto your cheeks, though after the sounds that just came out of you, it’s too late to be embarrassed. You have been friends for so many years, and if someone told you this morning that tonight you’d find yourself naked in bed with him, you would’ve laughed in disbelief.

“So beautiful.” He says, his voice a little hoarse, his fingers slowly stroke the bare skin on your thighs. “And so horny for me.” he smiles, and slides his thumb down your folds again, making you shiver with overstimulation. “Are you ready for more? I’m far from done.” 

Your lips curl softly into a confident smile.

“Of course I am. Bring it on.” You say, your voice tire but confident. You are more than ready— you crave more.

He lets out a low chuckle, his eyes fixed on your body.

“Good girl…” his voice low and raspy. “I thought you might say that.”

In one, swift motions he takes off his boxers, and you admire him, kneeling in front of you wearing nothing at all.

He slides both hands beneath your knees, lifting them up, as he shifts forward, settling himself between your legs with a slow movement. But before he slides into you, he leans down and kisses you tenderly. His lips still taste like you, but you love it, you love that you bodies seem to be connected from the very first touch, you love the hunger behind his lips, the urgency in his touch, the overwhelming desire in his eyes — because you feel the same for him. 

He slides into you and moves slowly at first, even though you don’t need to adjust too much — all that he did earlier made you wide open for him. He speeds up the pace, as one of his hands is reaching to your nipple, pulling and twisting it. You watch him, his hair moving with the rhythm, while drops of sweat glow against his pale skin under the light. He looks so good, how come you’ve never been absolutely mesmerized by his beauty before? How did it never hit you that he’s exactly your type — not just in looks, but everything else too. You could watch him like this every day: naked, beautiful, and hungry for you. Suddenly you want to give him more — the view and the sensation he won’t be able to forget. 

“Stop” you say, and when he does you sit up, your fingers wrapping around his arms with determination. With one swift motion, you guide him down, reversing your roles — now he’s the one beneath you, his back hitting the mattress as you brush your hair with your fingers. 

You sit on him, and helping yourself with your hand, you put his cock inside you so deep that it almost hurts. You throw your head back, feeling his hands reach for your butt, squeezing the cheeks in his large hands. You start moving up and down, finding your rhythm, he moves his hands to your hips, helping you get the right pace. You throw your head back, enjoying every time he fills you, bite your lip and ride him like there’s no tomorrow. You breath out, as he moves his hand up to squeeze one of your boobs in his hand. Every movement pulls you further into bliss, and you can’t help but moan his name.

“Fuck” you whisper under your breath, while he’s so deep in you. His hands explore your body, like he’s trying to memorize every curve, like he’s trying to claim every inch as his own.

“I’m close” he says, and you nod, quickening the pace and arching your back, exposing your whole body for him. He doesn’t close his eyes, he’s watching your every move, he doesn’t blink even once as not to lose sight of you. He finally finishes inside of you, but you don’t stop, you keep moving up and dow, feeling your own orgasm starting to build up. You get off him, sit on the bed and spread your legs. You’re just about to tell him to touch you, but his hands are already reaching out, eager for your body. He doesn’t need an invitation. He gets closer, looking at your pussy, dripping with his cum. 

He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss full of intensity, your tongues intertwining in a rhythm that seems so desperate, and unlike any hunger you’ve ever known. He puts his hand between your legs and start patting your clit, causing you to moan against his lips, and digging your fingers into his arm. You’re already so overstimulated that you don’t need much, just a few movements of his soft fingers, pressing in just the right place, makes you completely lose yourself and he has to hold you in place with his hand. 

He gives you a second orgasm of the night, and you moan his name so loudly he eventually has to cover your mouth with his hand to muffle the sound, otherwise you’d probably wake up the whole floor. Your friends are just behind the wall — if only they knew what’s going on in that room.

Your head arches back as your fingers dig deeper into his arm. Finally, when he’s done, you breathe deeply, resting your face against his shoulder, your body still pulsing with aftershocks. You take a moment to calm yourself, then lie down on the bed, heavy with exhaustion. Joost follows, lying beside you and for a moment nothing fills the room but the sound of your heavy breaths. 

You don’t touch at all, but you’re not mad about it. You need to calm your breath, to feel the gentle breeze on your tired body. A few minutes pass, and then he finally wraps his arm around you.

You know you should talk about what just happened — Was it just a one-time thing? Should you just be friends with benefits? Does he want something more? Do you want something more?

But now it seemed like a lot of work, and you were in such a delicious state, that you didn’t want to ruin it with any serious conversations. You didn’t even know the answer to any of those questions yet.

“So… How did I do?” He asks, as you rest your cheek on his arm. He’s all sweaty, but you don’t mind. The closeness gives you comfort.

“Fishing for compliments, are we?” You laugh.

“Oh, i so am. But i earned it! At least… I think I did.” He says, looking at you like he’s searching for confirmation. 

“Yeah” you nod “I mean… you definitely do” you say, and he presses a soft kiss to your temple. 

You suddenly feel very tired — it must be really late, and you have plans for tomorrow. You should probably sleep now. But his presence feels so good, and the simple act of just lying there, touching each other gently with fingertips, and leaving small kisses on his bare skin, feels too good to give up for sleep yet.

He pulls the blanket over both of your heads and underneath it, brings you even closer than you already were, giving you yet another passionate, sweet kiss.

“Oh no, don’t start again. We have to get some sleep.” You smile. “as much as I want too…”

He chuckles.

“You’re right. But we can do it again… tomorrow… or… I don’t know if — you want?” There’s something careful, almost unsure in his tone.

Is it his attempt to have that conversation? 

“Yeah… tomorrow is good.” You nod your head.

You want to do it again — you know it — but a worry sparks in your mind: what if this turns into just booty calls? You don’t want that. You enjoy having him as your friend.

He doesn’t let you slip out of his arms, and eventually, you both fall asleep.

*

You must have been asleep for a very long time, when a sudden knocking on the door jolts you awake. It’s not just knocking — it’s loud, insistent banging. Whoever is on the other side of the door definitely isn’t planning to go away without someone opening it. 

You glance at Joost - how the hell is he still asleep?! He lies there with his mouth slightly parted, completely undisturbed.

You slip out of bed and quickly realize you’re naked — yeah, no way you’re opening the door like that. Your pajamas are crumpled on the floor, right next to the blue wig. As you pull them on, the images of the night before flash your mind, and you catch yourself smiling. You can’t wait for tonight to repeat it. 

You take a look at yourself in the mirror. Your make up is completely smudged across your face, dark circles under your eyes, your hair is a total mess. You look like someone who’s been through a lot. You’re grateful there ain’t any visible hickeys on your neck or chest— you have no idea how you’d explain that.

You smooth your hair as good as you can, swipe a finger under your eyes, and finally open the door just slightly, leaving a narrow gap. 

“Jesus Christ, finally” you hear Julia’s voice the moment the door cracks open. “What the hell? I’ve been knocking for like… ten minutes.” She sounds annoyed — as if Bryan yesterday wasn’t enough of a problem, now you’re added to the list.

“Oh… sorry, we um… drank too much yesterday I think.” You rub your eyes and try to sound casual. “I’m sorry. Whats going on? Is Bryan okay?” You ask, concerned.

“I got an email from the karaoke place saying you apparently stole the blue wig.” she says, raising her eyebrows at you.

“Wh-what?” You answer, doing your best to look confused.

Damn, in all that chaos you didn’t think about the fact that she was the one who made the reservation — of course they had her email, maybe even her phone number.

You hadn’t consider this outcome. Honestly, you hadn’t thought much at all yesterday. The second Joost touched you, it was like some switch flipped in your head — and the reason? Gone. Completely shut off.

“Can you tell me, what the hell happened? And where’s Joost?” She asks, clearly impatient. Panic sparks in your chest. You need to come up with something — fast.

“I… ummm…” you’re stumbling for words, the exhaustion and lack of real sleep aren’t helping.

“OH MY GOD” Julia says suddenly, her eyes widening in realization. Before you can stop her, she pushes the door open and walks right in.

You look at Joost. He looks at you — now awake, confused and still somewhere between sleep and shock. Thank God he’s covered with the sheets. The last thing you need is for Julia to see him naked on top of everything else.

“I knew it!” she shouts, practically pointing an accusing finger first at Joost, then at you. Her eyes land on the blue wig crumpled on the floor, and she can’t help but laugh. She goes back to the door and yells down the hallway

“Bryan! Come here, you’re not gonna believe it.”