DAMN DISTANCE
pairing: joost klein x fem!reader
words count: 4,370
warnings: smut, dominant!male, oral!male receiving, tongue piercing, spit in mouth, unprotected sex, cum inside, face slapping, slapping in general, dirty talk, rough sex, hand around throat, choking, i think you get the idea.
description: two months of waiting, a long-distance argument, an unrevealed piercing and sky-high tension create the perfect setting for raw, intense intimacy.
author’s note: The filthiest, horniest smut I’ve ever written and I’m proud of it (i think). Nothing more to say except I’m working on the first part of a long fanfic full of angst and sex WITH ANGST and probably more angst, maybe angst????.
you love me, i know that. Enjoy the reading, gooners.
big kisses!
(sorry if there are grammatical errors, I tried my best, English is not my first language!!!🙏)
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Two months of tour? Absolutely heartbreaking. Not being able to see, touch, kiss, hug, tease and cuddle my boyfriend for that long had been incredibly hard to bear. We had never been apart like this in our four years together.
I always tried to be present at his concerts, his travels around the country, around the world; even the festivals he attended at. That’s because he wanted me by his side and honestly, I always had fun.
It made me feel close to him, showed him my support, helped him before he stepped on stage… and also let me experience post-performance Joost, buzzing with adrenaline and excitement. Excited in every sense of the word.
Sex after concerts was amazing: it gave a spark to our sex life. Maybe that’s also why I loved going to every event. It was a moment of union.
Sure, it was driven by raw physical attraction, but it was mostly a way to feel like one soul. To know, without a doubt, that we belonged to each other. To look into his eyes, reflect his desire, to feel his hands gripping my body, to feel his breath, his teeth, his tongue, his lips on my neck; to be shoved against the wall of his dressing room, or the tiny bathroom behind the stage, or the backseat of a car, or literally any surface in our home; to feel his cock sink deep inside me while his filthy mouth moaned those lazy, sloppy sounds and my chest ached with pure love for him; love I felt was fully returned, made me feel like I could touch the sky.
He was always so into it, so hungry, so unpredictable. He could go from being the most aggressive: pinning me down with my face smashed to the sticky dressing room table, hands behind my back and legs trembling, to letting me ride him at my own pace, letting me decide how the moment would unfold.
The problem was… this time, I couldn’t join him. Work had buried me alive and I couldn’t even think about being gone for two months.
So I accepted it. So did he.
…Or almost.
We fought after nearly three weeks. The tension had built up and despite trying to avoid it, we couldn’t escape the misunderstandings.
I’ll admit it - I probably overreacted, but waking up and not seeing any message from my boyfriend since the night before, before yet another concert… only to see a notification that he’d started an Instagram live? That sent my nerves straight to my brain.
Had he forgotten me? Was he ignoring me?
I called him the second the live ended. I had watched the whole thing. I saw how he interacted with his friend, saw him lying back on the tour bus shirtless, of course leaving plenty for the fans to fantasize about. With every passing minute, the tight knot in my chest grew stronger.
Was I jealous? Maybe.
Insecure? Definitely.
“Baby, good morning-” I didn’t even let him finish. I snapped. The phone was gripped tight in one hand, my other arm pressed against my chest.
“Did you have fun ignoring me?” My voice was sharp, accusing. My heart thundered in my chest and my brows were furrowed like he was standing right in front of me.
A sigh came through the speaker, followed by a line so robotic, so obviously fake, that it lit a fuse under all the frustration I’d bottled up.
“I was gonna call you in five minutes. I wasn’t ignoring you.”
Was that a joke?
He hadn’t texted me all day, even though he’d had the chance. I didn’t want to feel pushed aside. I didn’t want to come second. I knew he was busy but so was I, and yet I always carved out time for him.
Did he want distance? Was he happy being away from me? Then fine, he could stay away.
After ten minutes of arguing, intense arguing where we tried to out-blame each other, I hung up on him, yelling: “Since I don’t exist to you anymore, go fuck yourself!”
Yeah.
We didn’t text for a solid week, and for the rest of the month we barely sent each other a few messages just to confirm we were alive.
Saying I didn’t miss him would’ve been a straight-up lie. I watched his concert videos and got jealous, frustrated. I tried to be happy for him but I couldn’t.
He was acting like an asshole, even worse than me. He didn’t text at all. Maybe that’s why we were together - because we were both stubborn.
That day came. He was finally coming home from that never ending tour.
I found myself bouncing my leg anxiously, fiddling with the new tongue piercing I hadn’t told him about, checking our chat again: his last message had been “coming home” and I had replied half an hour ago.
I hadn’t really cleaned the house, just the living room. I was anxious to see him, desperate to hold him again, but at the same time, I knew things between us were tense.
I felt guilty. I was scared I’d ruined the tour for him, that I’d ruined us, that I’d pushed him into thinking about ending things.
I wanted to talk, to apologize, to hear what he had to say. I wanted to show him the piercing I’d gotten the day after he left, to see his reaction.
I wanted to feel close to him again, to kiss him until I was drunk on his taste.
The click of the front door echoed down the hallway. The light from the ceiling glowed over the quiet corridor as my bare feet brushed the cold floor, carrying me cautiously toward the sound. I left my phone on the kitchen counter, which opened onto the living room, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and laid eyes on Joost.
He walked in dragging his big suitcase behind him. He had those black boots on, which he kicked off near the shoe rack.
A tight wool beanie hugged his head, hiding his forehead and leaving just a few bleached strands visible at his nape. Earbuds still in. One of the thickest jackets I’d ever seen him wear, definitely new.
I pressed my lips together and clutched the hem of the hoodie I was wearing, one that usually felt warm and comforting but now just made my skin itch.
He didn’t look up when he took off the black coat. Didn’t meet my gaze, even as I sighed loudly, trying to catch his attention as he headed down the main hallway.
Was he really giving me the silent treatment?
I followed him with my eyes but didn’t move, just stood frozen in the middle of the room.
I felt embarrassed to even approach him.
I didn’t expect him to be this cold.
I glanced at the suitcase next to his shoes, then turned toward the hallway when I heard the sound of running water. He was in the bathroom. Without thinking too much, I decided to go to him.
Sooner or later, we’d have to face everything.
I peeked in, gripping the wooden doorframe with both hands. And there he was, standing in front of the mirror, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. My stomach instantly turned into a black hole, pulling every sensation into one tight point, my upper teeth catching my lower lip on instinct.
“I need to take a shower, I’m really tired.” He shifted his weight onto his right leg, and his voice hit me like a warning. I suddenly felt as small as an ant.
I hadn’t heard his voice in over a month, hadn’t touched him for even longer, and yet, despite everything, the sight of him half-naked, the annoyed look on his face and that tired tone in his voice… hit me with undeniable force.
My eyes lingered a second too long before I gathered my courage, shoulders tight, and stepped into the room, reaching over to turn off the running shower.
No. He wasn’t getting in. Not before clearing the air with me.
“y/n” His thick eyebrows lifted slightly and his hands landed on his hips as his gaze quickly ran down my body, only to settle on my face, creased with guilt.
“You’re not even going to say hi?” I spoke with feigned offense as I walked up to him and wrapped my arms around his torso, letting my hands rest on his back and my cheek on his collarbone.
He could deny it all he wanted, but I felt the shiver run across his exposed skin, heard the subtle breath leave his lips.
“I’m sorry…” My voice got even smaller, as my body instinctively sought the warmth I hadn’t felt from him in so long.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.
So naturally, I lifted my head to meet his eyes.
They were already on me and now that cold, icy stare had softened. He looked at me with something unfamiliar, something cautious, almost like he didn’t believe I was really there. My expression gave me away completely: lips curled downward, wide eyes, and slightly puffed cheeks: like a scolded puppy.
“Are we making up?” I murmured, hugging him tighter, desperately wanting to feel that he was still mine.
He furrowed his brows, narrowing his eyes as if trying to read something hidden. Then, with his tattooed hand, he took my chin and gently tilted my head upward. His thumb rested softly on my cheek, his index finger outlining my jaw.
“Stick out your tongue.” His deep, smooth voice sent a sudden jolt straight to my lower stomach. He had seen the piercing and now he just wanted confirmation. The anticipation crawled under my skin, nearly unbearable.
I smiled before obeying him, catching the way his gaze sharpened slightly, how he wasn’t about to back down without getting what he wanted.
I parted my lips and slowly let my tongue slide out, revealing the titanium piercing and silver bead that caught the artificial bathroom light. His stare locked on my mouth, his thumb brushing down to my bottom lip and gently pressing it. I stuck my tongue out a little further, letting him fully take in the view.
His expression softened. A dry chuckle rumbled from his chest.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His eyes lifted from my mouth to my gaze again, a playful curiosity dancing in his expression.
“I wanted to show you in person. And mostly… let you feel it.” The guilty tone quickly turned into something falsely innocent - like I wasn’t implying anything dirty. Like there was nothing to be misunderstood.
He looked at me for a few seconds, then took a slow breath, exhaling through his nose. His hand dropped to rest gently around my neck: not squeezing, just enough to let me feel the weight of his presence and the fact that my words had definitely had an effect on him.
“Yeah? And why should I indulge you?” His voice turned teasing, his lips curled with mischief as his eyes flicked back to my mouth.
I stuck out my tongue again and playfully rolled the piercing across both lips, letting the beads trace my upper then lower lip.
“Because… why not?” I said shamelessly.
His fingers tightened slightly around my neck. Then his lips crashed into mine with a primal hunger that left no room for hesitation. A muffled hum slipped from my nose as my hands dug into the cold skin of his back, while my tongue slid naturally into his mouth, and he welcomed it without resistance.
Our tongues moved in sync, the piercing dancing against Joost’s wet muscle as he took in the new sensation with visible pleasure. It was obvious. He wanted me. As much as I wanted him. His hips unconsciously pushed into mine and a deep moan vibrated from his throat, muffled by the heat between us.
He pulled back, still gripping my neck, eyes locked with mine, breath heavy and ragged in the small bathroom.
Then came the pressure of his thumb sliding into my mouth, no words needed. He wanted me to suck it.
“Still my little slut” He said calmly, voice low enough to draw a gasp from deep within me,“Doesn’t matter how much you scream at me on the phone, how much shit you throw at me… you’ll always be right here.”
The heat shot down my spine, landing directly in the soaked center of my panties.
We had made up. And we’d talk about everything after we fucked. The mood had shifted completely. And honestly? This was the best possible turn things could have taken.
I released his thumb with a wet pop and gave it one last lick, letting the silver bead clash against his skin. Our eyes locked again but I broke eye contact first. A sharp slap landed on my cheek, firm but not cruel. My eyes shut and a breathy moan escaped my lips, more out of reflex than pain.
“Did I tell you to stop sucking?” His voice reached my ears like a command. His hand grabbed my jaw, tilting my face back to him, forcing me to answer.
I shook my head in a silent no.
Then he pulled me in again, dragging me into another deep, messy kiss.
We kissed for what felt like minutes. His hand moved to tangle in my hair, while mine, previously resting at the base of his spine, snuck shamelessly into his boxers. I wasn’t the only one getting off fast. He was already hard and had been for at least five minutes.
I wrapped my hand around him and moved slowly, teasingly, while his breath grew heavier, until he finally broke away from my lips now swollen and slick with spit.
“I missed you…” The soft, warm breath hit his skin, and his face welcomed it with a genuine smile that cracked open the thick atmosphere of pent-up sexual tension that had been simmering for over two months.
I didn’t stop moving my hand inside his boxers. I was being sweet, almost romantic, I ignored the reason for the guttural moans slipping from his lips with such ease.
“How much?” He whispered, licking his lips, which curved into an expression of bliss as my hand tightened slightly around his cock, stroking his sensitive tip with the flat of my palm.
“A lot. Only God knows how many times I touched myself thinking about you.” My voice turned delicate again, feigning innocence, wide eyes full of desire. That was all it took for his hand to silently guide me downward until I found myself kneeling between his legs.
I didn’t resist. I wanted to. And I knew my legs would ache later, but I didn’t care.
After slipping my hand out of his boxers, I pulled them down, then brought both hands to his cock, letting him guide my face toward his length.
I started licking, savoring the salty, slick taste of his precum that had dripped down the length of his shaft. The contact with my tongue piercing made him twitch, the titanium bead pressing softly along the thick, pulsing vein.
“Fuck-“ The curse fell from his throat, his hand tangling in my hair, forcing my face down closer to his groin. I closed my eyes for a second and let my tongue swirl around his base, ending with soft, teasing nibbles on the skin of his lower abdomen.
His head tilted back, exposing his throat, and from where I was, I could only see his heaving chest, his tensed neck, and the faint bulging of veins in his tattooed arms. His grip was tight in my hair, but it still felt like I had complete control. I could lick, suck, bite, do whatever I wanted to every inch of skin I desired.
I dragged my tongue slowly along his entire shaft, letting the piercing glide across every delicate part, especially the swollen head, which made him shudder and flex his muscles. I moved my hands to his thighs, gripping them softly, as my lips began to close around his tip and I slowly sank down on him.
I could taste him again. Feel him at the back of my throat. Choke around his thrusts. Look up into his eyes while he lost himself inside my mouth.
That was all I needed to realize nothing had really changed between us. All my overthinking had been for nothing.
Tears welled up in my eyes not from pain or frustration, but simply as a natural reflex.
And once I started to suck him properly, it didn’t take long before his hips began to move with me. Both his hands gripped my head now, and I could feel the pressure increase as his cock filled my mouth to the brim. The piercing rubbed harder and harder against his skin, and I could tell - he loved it.
I could see it in the raw, uncontrollable sounds he made, in the way his hips snapped forward, in how his eyes glazed over with pure lust.
“Fuck- best decision you’ve ever made” He murmured through groans, sweat now coating his body, as his thrusts grew faster, more erratic.
I couldn’t take it anymore. My nails dug into his thighs so hard I was sure I’d leave marks. My eyes were shut tight, and the sounds I was making against his cock said everything except control.
But he didn’t come. He refused to finish in my mouth.
He yanked me off with a sharp pull, and my legs, numb from kneeling, nearly gave out as I stumbled backward onto the cold bathroom floor. I gasped for air, wiping away the tears on my cheeks as a coughing fit hit me, throat raw and burning from how deep he’d been inside me.
He leaned in just slightly, only to gently cup my face in his hands, lifting it toward him. That simple gesture made me immediately straighten up: first on my knees, then standing, eager to grant his silent wish to taste himself from my lips.
He was soft, but commanding. I let him win the battle for control between our mouths, and his hands slowly slid from my cheeks to my hips, quietly asking me to take off the sweatshirt I still had on.
I pulled back from his body, only detaching my lips from his when absolutely necessary, just long enough to slip off the warm layer still covering my bare skin underneath. I let it fall to the floor and immediately brought our mouths back together, barely giving him time to look at the round curves of my breasts, the softness of my stomach.
My fingers wove into his hair and I let him pull me into his warmth, his arms wrapping around my bare torso. My breasts pressed firmly against his chest, and my nipples reacted almost instantly to the contact.
We pulled apart one last time, and he looked at me, really looked.
He took in my glossy eyes, my blushing cheeks, my swollen lips, the way my skin shivered under every one of his touches.
It was like his eyes were made to read me: half-lidded, heavy with desire, perfectly reflecting how he felt inside. They gave soul to his tired face, to the dark circles under his eyes, to his messy hair and lips still stained with filthy, honest words; words that somehow still dripped with sweetness, even though I knew he’d fuck me against the sink like an animal in just a few minutes.
And he did.
After playing with my breasts, covering them with attention, teasing them with the rough bristles of his mustache, biting until red patches bloomed across the plane of my chest. After making me believe, even for a moment, that he’d gone soft: his gaze focused on my pleasure, his cock grinding desperately against my side, begging for attention, for release. After caressing the curves of my hips and hearing me moan his name, he grabbed me and turned me around, pressing me up against the cold marble of the sink.
His hand returned to my throat, sliding upward from the marks he’d left across my chest. He leaned his head against mine and looked into the mirror, taking in the sight of my body from its reflection.
“Look at yourself. Remember who gives you these marks. Remember who makes you moan like that. Remember who you ache for.” He whispered it right into my ear, just before closing his eyes and brushing his kiss-bruised lips down the sensitive skin of my neck. He tilted my face gently and trailed a line of kisses from just behind my ear to my shoulder, lifting his gaze to meet mine in the mirror.
“You’re mine, and I’m yours. No unsent message will ever change that.”
Those words collided with the shivers already running through me, making me arch my back, pushing my ass against his bare cock without even realizing it. My hands gripped the marble, and without me noticing, his hands were already tugging down my soft pants and underwear in one swift motion, exposing me to the cool air that rushed across my pulsing, wet entrance.
I didn’t have the courage to keep my eyes open. I shut them tightly until a sharp, deliberate slap landed on my bare ass and a moan tore from my throat before I even had time to think.
“Look at yourself while I fuck you. You need to see the way you fall apart because of me. Got it?” I opened my eyes obediently, biting down on my lower lip, chaining my gaze to my reflection and finally seeing myself.
Even if only for a few seconds.
God, how much I loved melting in his arms. It was one of my favorite things in the world.
He entered me with a single, deep thrust, making the first wet slap echo between us as our bodies collided. My back arched even more, my eyes searching for his, and my unprepared walls clenched immediately around his length.
He gripped my hips tightly and pushed me harder against the material of the sink, creating a rough friction between my skin and the cold surface. I didn’t even have time to focus on that stinging pain, because he started moving right away.
He didn’t give me a break, didn’t give me a second to adjust, he just began thrusting into me with a relentless, aggressive rhythm.
His hands dug into my skin like I was the only thing keeping him afloat. He slapped my already reddened cheek again and immediately after, one hand wrapped around my throat. He brought his chest close to my back without slowing down, fucking me just as hard, making sure I could hear every breath, every word of praise whispered into my ear.
I whimpered, feeling his fingers truly sinking into my flesh, making me instinctively wrap one hand around his wrist while the other stayed braced on the edge of the sink.
The sight in the mirror was obscenely arousing, so much so that it alone could’ve made me come: my breasts bouncing with each thrust, his head next to mine, his sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead.
The overwhelming awareness that the next morning, I’d see every mark he left on me, including the one that was currently stealing the breath from my lungs.
I came just after he did. Right after I felt him fill me - his cum, his cock - every inch of him pressing deeper. Right after his weight settled over my back and his hand finally loosened from around my throat, though it still lingered gently there.
I was exhausted, sore, my back aching, completely spent… yet, I ached to cling to Joost, to stay wrapped in his body like a lifeline.
The thought of our fight still echoed in the back of my mind, even after that wild, frenzied fuck.
He cupped my face and turned it just enough to bring it close to his.
Still panting, he motioned for me to part my lips. I did. And looked into his eyes, first to admire how flushed his face had become.
He forced me to hold eye contact as he let a thin line of spit fall into my mouth, landing right on the piercing he still wasn’t used to. Then he kissed me. Softly, slowly, once I’d closed my lips and swallowed his spit.
The feeling of his cum dripping out of me. His tongue now tender, stroking mine. His hands, moving slowly, back to hold my waist… It was enough to make love bloom through every pore of my skin.
“I’m sorry I acted immature and didn’t reach out to you” He murmured against my lips, barely audible, after pulling away from that last kiss.
He buried his face in the crook of my neck and breathed me in deeply, the scent of my skin, something he’d clearly missed, judging by the way he clung to me. The way he stayed connected to my body, the way he mumbled quietly, like he never wanted to let me go again.
A smile broke across my lips, and a soft laugh echoed in the bathroom at his next words: “Let’s not talk about it anymore, okay?”
We hadn’t talked about it at all. But maybe that was fine. Maybe our bodies had said enough. Maybe our souls had kissed the way they needed to.
“That piercing looks really fucking good on you” he added, finally lifting his head and letting his lazy gaze rest on my softened expression.
“Looks good, or you just liked it for… other reasons?” I raised an eyebrow, my smile shifting from sincere to teasing.
“Both” he muttered after pretending to think for a moment, planting a quick kiss on the lips he’d been biting just minutes earlier.
I turned in his arms and held onto his shoulders tightly, while his hands - his gentle, skilled fingers - traced my sides with care and reverence.
That touch alone was enough to remind me: He was home.
