#mari's scribbles

No one knew the two of you were dating, in fact, the public viewed both of you as chronically single. The decision to keep your relationship private was made due to both of your sizable fanbases. Each of you were famous in your own rite, but both of you knew both the joys and struggles of being in the public eye. False rumors, creepy fans, and little privacy was enough to make the decision an easy one. 

At the time.

Over the years, as you and Joost finally realized that you were it for each other, no doubt about it, you started to feel the pull to express your love for him publicly. Your 5 year anniversary was the hard, your poor friends following your finsta were bombarded with photos of the two of you. But the part of you that wanted to let the world know that Joost was yours, and has always been yours, was still clawing away at you.

However, you knew Joost. He was a (your) wonderful, loving, kind, fun guy. But he also was anxious, guarded. He kept the things he loved close to him as if they’d slip away at a moment's notice, and he was right to think that opening a relationship up to the public eye would change things.  You agree, but you also think that you're at the place in your relationship where you could withstand pretty much anything. You didn’t know if Joost would agree though, and you didn’t ask.

So imagine your surprise that one morning. You wake up, sun bathing the room in a light glow as your bedroom’s curtains hang stiffly in their daytime positions. The spot next to you in bed is unfortunately cold. You sigh, disappointed but not surprised. His album was very close to being done, and you knew how he got when the finish line was in sight. 

You reach to your nightstand to grab your phone, only to be met with something slimy. You yelp in surprise to see your fingers are covered in grape jelly. You turn to see a plate of toast, a cup of water, and a note laying on your nightstand.

sorry lfje,

tantu coming in early 4 finishing touches. i’ll bring home the usb, you’ll love it. also, i made breakfast B)

ik hou van je lieverd

joost :p

You grinned cheesily at the note, gently folding it up and placing it in the top drawer. You had accidentally started collecting them– you couldn’t help it! You loved everything about the notes, from Joost's messy scrawl, him drawing out text emojis, to him being too lazy to spell out “liefje” and shortening it to “lfje” (a very common thing for him to do, but it’s okay, you think it’s hilarious). It’s all so very endearing and so very Joost. Not to mention the also knowing the project he had put all his time and effort into was finally going to be shared with you. He had yet to tell you much about it, you didn’t even know the title. 

You surveyed the toast before taking the plate into your hand. As you were taking your first bite, you turned on your phone. 8:18? Not bad, especially for a Friday. 26 various missed calls and 47 texts? Very bad, for literally any time. Your friends had called you a bunch, and spam texted. “WTF why didn’t u tell me u were spillin” and “do u know he did this” were a few that stuck out. As you frantically scrolled through your notifs, desperately trying to figure out what had gone on, you reached the last two notifications. Second to last was Apson, who left a simple “You’re cooked”.

Last was Joost, at 4 in the morning no less. He had woken up that early? He sent a link to a Tiktok, and said “damn.”  You clicked the link to the Tiktok, and you can honestly say you were surprised.

Now, with a fanbase comes fan edits. You know this. As narcissistic as it may be, you watch a few of the ones that make you look like a badass when you need an ego boost. You rarely watch, however, the thirst ones. Of yourself at least, Joost is a different story. But here you were, watching a spliced video of you at an event where you decided to wear a particularly revealing outfit. You giggled like a child a bit at the thought that Joost saw it, watched it, but then your eyes drifted to the bottom left corner of the screen. 

“Joost reposted”

You inhaled sharply. Has anyone besides your friends noticed? You ran to the comment section to see. Accidentally doing yourself in, you read the top comment.

Joost: smash

[Liked by creator]

You stared frozen at the screen for a moment before bursting into uncontrollable laughter. You could be pissed at him, really you could. You could shoot him a text right now about the logistics of how to go about this and such– or you could take it as a challenge. You bit your lip and reopened your messages.

You: oooh u wanna play this game?

You were happy to see the text bubble pop up within the minute.

Joost: if you up me i will up you two times ᕙ(  •̀ ᗜ •́  )ᕗ

Alright, bet. You had envisioned soft launching him more times than you could count, so opening Instagram and making a story was almost muscle memory. You inserted a photo of him and the comically oversized stuffed bears he got you for your first anniversary and began cropping. It ended up only being two bears with Joost’s legs and arm in the photo but still– his tattoo was visible. If you knew what to look for, you knew. And now, people were looking. You added the Beatles “Here Comes the Sun” in the back and hit post to the story.

Five minutes later:

Joost: oke so we’re doing this 

An additional five minutes later:

Joost: check tiktok

Tikok? Okay. Chances are, he was not lying about upping you. You opened the app immediately, as excited as a child opening Christmas gifts. You watched his latest video, eyes glued to the screen. It’s old, probably taken two or three years ago, and it starts with Joost's face filling the entire screen. His expression blank, he slowly pans the camera out and up as a remix of ZIPLOC by Tyler the Creator and 4:44 by Jay-Z played, revealing his head on your lower stomach and your thighs resting over his shoulders. You gasped as the camera pans to show your face, and video-you proceed to stick your tongue out playfully and snake your hand into his hair to give him a playful ruffle. His face erupts in glee, and the video replays.

He’d fucking done it. Both of your faces were fully in that, fully visible!  There was no way anyone could mistake you as anything but his, and him as anyone but yours. You rolled around in bed, overflowing from happiness, before sitting straight up and snatching back your phone. Sure this was cute, but you couldn’t let him win. Okay, time to reopen Instagram. A main post to a platform with double digit million followers oughta do the trick! You selected a recent photo of the two of you. You’d taken it on a digital camera, on the couch of a friend's apartment during a get together. You have one wired earbud in your left ear, and Joost has the other in his right. Joost is dead asleep, his head resting on your shoulder, eyes peacefully shut. Your head is resting on his, your face smiling sweetly into the camera. You shakily copy and paste “oke so we’re doing this” and let out a small chuckle before hitting post and instantly chucking your phone across the room.

The nerves have hit you. This was dumb, so dumb,  and god you’d be lucky if your PR manager didn’t kill you. But also, it cannot be that bad right? Right?

--

It can. Nine long hours have passed since you’ve posted the photo and Joost hasn’t acknowledged it. Didn’t like it, didn’t comment, didn’t reply to your taunting “haha i win” text. Nothing. Radio silence. Your friends have been blowing up your phone but you won’t reply yet. You won’t make any other moves until Joost makes his. 

You stare at your phone screen, waiting for something, anything to happen. Jesus christ, thank FUCK it does. Spotify shockingly sends the notification:

An Artist You Follow Just Dropped!

Joost just dropped an album! Listen now on Spotify.

He did what?? You quickly check his social media and right on his story: an album cover with the text “album three months early. no promotion. i win.”

What. Did. This. Bastard. Do. You run to Spotify, and hit play. The opening track starts to play and… what the fuck? You knew he was experimenting with other music styles. He’d told you about trying to lean more emo on a track, and the sheer amount of My Chemical Romance he played while making it made you feel as though you were back in middle school. But this was so soft, shockingly so for Joost’s recent style. And then there are the lyrics. It was very Paul Mccartney-esque, with two characters' love story being told over the course of the song. While Lelie and… Grug’s tale was incredibly over the top and dramatic, the chorus was very different. The way Grug spoke about Lelie was poetic and gentle, true love pouring from every word. You listen in shock because, this… this was the Joost you got on Saturday mornings, sappy and sweet. You click on the song see the title: LFJE

You let out a noise of pure shock and glee right as you hear the door to your apartment slam. “I win! I win ! I win, I win, I win!” Joost chants, and you leap up to meet him. 

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Your boyfriend had warned you before your first tattoo that something called “the tattoo seal” would be broken. He explained that once you had one, you couldn’t stop, all while hitching up his shorts, his minion in a maid dress tattoo on full display. You had laughed, confidently claiming you had both more self control and sensibility than him, therefore you would never get something like that.

Now, three months later, you stared at the reflection in the mirror over your shoulder, lip bit. You didn’t regret the tattoo, not a bit, but you regretted not thinking past that when getting it. How were you to tell your boyfriend that you had gotten a tramp stamp, and furthermore, that it was a tramp stamp of his name, ® symbol included. He would be home any minute now, and you had no idea what to do.

You eventually decided to just throw on an oversized tee, and procrastinate solving your issue. As soon as the T-shirt is over your head you hear the front door open, and your boyfriend’s voice call out to you.

“Liefde! I’m home!”

You of course run to greet him. His face erupts in glee, as it always does when he sees you, and he wraps you in a tight hug. You nuzzle your face into his neck and inhale. He smells of his recent cigarette and cologne. “I missed you,” You mumble into his neck. 

“I missed you too,” He says softly and kisses the top of your head. “But look!”

He pulls away and gestures to the kitchen counter, where two bags of your favorite restaurants takeout rest. “Joost! You shouldn’t have!” You exclaim, immediately running to grab the two of you drink. “I’ve been working so late at the studio and wanted to surprise you. It’s nothing really, truly bare minimum.” He says as you grab a glass and fill it for him. 

“Still. It’s sweet. And I love you.” You say, handing him his glass and pressing a quick kiss onto his cheek. 

“I love you too.” He replies as you reach up to grab yourself a glass from your cabinet. “I was just thinking earlier today about how crazy it is-”

He cuts off. As you reached for your glass you had instinctively reached to scratch an itch on your back, accidentally lifting the back of your shirt. Fully visible was joost klein® printed in jet black ink, right above the waistband of your boxers (really his boxers, but they were comfy and you liked them so…).

You dropped your hand quickly, and whipped around. “So uh..” You started, attempting to form even a semblance of an explanation. 

Joost stared at you, shell shocked, and a noticeable imprint starting to appear in his jeans. “Holy shit…” He whispered. 

“Do you like it?” You asked nervously, taking a step towards him. 

“Fucking hell Schatje…” He says, finally moving to run a hand through his hair. “Do I like it? I love it.”

He takes a step towards you, and now looking down at you, eyes ablaze. “God, you drive me insane.” He mumbles, reaching up to stroke your cheek. “I seriously almost just came in my pants like a teenager.”

You laugh, and then Joost’s lips crashed into yours. You hungrily press against each other, before you pull away slowly, as your thumb sweeps across a stubble-lined jaw.

Head tilting, until you can press your lips just above, against the sharp cut of a cheekbone. You can feel his exhale against you. The tightly-strung muscles easing, even as he tugs you closer. Even as you hear the hitch in his breath, the way his head tips towards yours. You move slow. The next brushing his cheek. Another, to the corner of his lips. It’s then that he moves. A rough groan in his throat as his hand shifts to your chin. Holding you in place so his mouth can meet yours. Something chaste, that turns hungry. His hips canting into yours, as his tongue sweeps into your mouth. You let him. Fingers slipping against the short, velvet-shorn hair. Up until there’s something to grip onto, as his hips rocks against yours. “Fuck.” It’s rumbled against your lips, “What made you go ahead and get that love?.”

You moan, as his lips drag to press against your jaw. How his thigh rocks against your core, where you’re still pinned between him and the counter. “I don’t know” You say, weakly, “Just wanted it.”

There’s the rough huff of a laugh. “Funny how that works.”

There’s the pounding of your heart, just below his lips. Fingers that trace the waistband of your sleep shorts. Slipping beneath your shirt to grasp at your waist. Tugging, until you’re rubbing yourself on his thigh. The muscles flexing beneath you as you gasp, nails biting into his shoulder. Trying to avoid the bruises, his skin hot to the touch. Another roll - again and again. A rough grunt each time you press flush, when the imprint of his cock ruts against your hip. 

The seam on your boxers catches your clit. Your breath quickens, as your arousal dampens the thin cloth. A dark patch seeping into the dark fabric, but Joost only groans when his eyes flick down to see the gleam.

“Feels good.” You breathe, eyes half-lidded.

His teeth flash white. Pressing harder, until you’re whimpering. Until there’s a building pressure in your belly, toes curling against the tile.

“Joost.” It’s a plea, it’s a warning.

“Yeah, schat?” His knowing tone, the sweet name sends heat to your cheeks, “You close? Think you can come for me like this?”

You don’t know if you can. All you know is the feeling of his thigh nudging against you, as his leg bounces. The rasp of his stubbled cheek against yours.

“Think you can.” Joost hums, “Think you want me to hear how pretty you sound when you come.”

His name strings out. Fingers teasing, slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. A rough moan in your ear when he meets bare, slick skin. Another pulled when your own hand drifts. A palm cupping him, where his clothed cock ruts into your hip. The heel of your hand nudging with the flex of his thigh. Again, and again. Sweet nothings slipping from you, a heady mix of his name and “please” and “oh my god-”, as your head tips back.

His mouth against your neck, your chin, your mouth. Your cry cut short as his body presses you flush between him and the counter. Fingers slipping down. Beneath the dampened fabric, circles pressed against your clit. Wanting to do this himself, to give this to you. The pleasure blooms low in your belly. Liquid heat and the release of what feels like weeks of building pressure coursing through you, as he brings you over the edge.

Your orgasm pulsing low and warm, as your hands find his shoulders. Adding fingerprint bruises to one’s he already carries. Ones he’ll look at fondly, when he’s alone.

Joost’s knee only eases from you, when that tight grip on him finally loosens. The aftershocks still honey-sweet where they thud in your core. Legs like jelly, as your back slips against the cabinets - as you sink to your knees.

You want all of him.

You’re greedy like that - fingers itching to reach out and take. To beg, but your eyes are drawn the bruises. The shadows under his eyes, you don’t know the last time he slept.

There will be more time, later. If you’re lucky.

“Hey. Hey-” His voice is almost worried, broad hands wrapping around your biceps. The words twisting into a choked sound instead, when your hands trace up his thighs. Over the slick patch, darkening the denim.

Eye-level with his hips. Your gaze meeting his, as you press an open-mouthed kiss against the straining curve. He groans then. Bare chest heaving, as his hands drop to his belt. No words needed, in sync from the years already spent together.

Thumbs hooking into the waistband of dark boxers, tugging down. Your eyes tracing where the dark trail from his belly thickens, hair coarse at the base of his cock. “Don’t have to.” It’s half-hearted. A tick to his jaw, when your fingers join his.

Another sharp tug, until his cock is freed. Achingly hard, as it bobs in front of you. A pretty shade of pink that grows darker at the tip. A drop leaking from the slit, the head already glossy from where it smeared against fabric.

God, you need to taste him.

“I know.” You breathe, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you grin, “I want to.”

Leaning forward to taste him. A kiss against the shaft, tongue flattening against velvet skin. “Wanna make you happy.”

His fingers flex, curling into fists. Your eyes meet his, “I think you like it when I do.”

Joost stiffens at your words, a sharp inhale through teeth. But you miss it - lips parting to take him into your mouth. A moan as you suck, feeling how his cock jerks against your tongue. “Fuck.” He grits - the flex of his hand, as he cups the back of your neck. Fingers twining into your hair, tugging.

He inches further into your mouth - the hollow of your cheeks as you suck, head gently bobbing.

He’s big. You know this. An ache in your jaw already, but it’s worth it - to give him this. 

Spit strings between your lips and his cock, when you pull back. He lets you - that grip loosening, though his fingers stay twisted in your hair. Keeping you close, only slipping away long enough for you to tug the shirt from your shoulders.

Letting it pool on the floor, letting his eyes drag over more bare skin beneath. His touch followed without thinking - calloused fingers tracing your shoulders. The soft curves of your tits, palm cupping flesh. The other hand anchors himself to you again as before. The curved weight against the back of your head - a gentle, encouraging pressure. Urging you to his cock again. Already missing the warmth of your mouth. Working him back up to that peak again, and then further - as you take him into your throat.

His breathing grows shorter. Muscles flexing as he bucks into your mouth, chasing the pleasure that threatens to snap inside him.

“Shit, liefde.” Joost rasps, “You want me to come on these?”

A squeeze against your chest. You make a low sound in your throat, in response. Eyes flicking up, sinking another inch deeper as your fingers grasp onto his jeans.

“Fuck.” The syllables draw out, “Sure, liefde. Anything you want.”

His fingers tug harder. The flicker of pain along your scalp blending with the heat that lingers between your thighs. Keeping your eyes on his as his hips move just a little faster. Air inhaled through your nose as a hand slips up to curl around his base. Easing off just enough that you can jerk him into your mouth.

Your name comes out ragged, slipped into a moan. A curl of his lips over teeth, panting breath. “Gonna make me come, schat.” It’s a warning, but your tongue only curls around the head. Waiting to taste him fully, as he groans.

Another choked breath, his head tilting back, before his cock throbs between your lips. Pulsing against your tongue, as your fist works him empty.

Your eyes close then. Senses narrowing down to the sounds he makes. Filthy, as his fingers tug hard enough to hurt, unconsciously rocking into the suction of your mouth with each drop that spills against your tongue. “Fuck.” He mutters again.

Softer, this time. Fingers suddenly dropping, shifting to smooth over your cheeks. A low hiss, when you ease off him - only for your head to dip forward again. To catch the last errant drop on your tongue, as it flicks against his slit.

“Jesus christ,” He mutters, looking down at your head tipped up, lips swollen. 

His boxers still a mess around his thighs, your fingers still circled around him.”Can you turn around?” He asks. “Wanna see the tattoo in all its glory.”

You oblige, of course. He runs his fingers over the still lightly irritated skin. He’s quiet for a moment. “Can I ask you two things?”

“Yeah,” You breathe out.

“Can I use this as an album cover?”

You laugh in surprise, but nod, as his fingers slowly play with your waistband. “Fucking awesome. Thanks liefde. And also… can I take these off?”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Excuse me...

Hm?

You're in my seat. Number 142?

Oh. Couldya just sit next to me?

I uh... like the window seat.

Okay... fine.

Is this your correct seat? What number's on your ticket?

Lower your voice.

Why?

'Cause I don't have a ticket.

Ah, I see. Okay. Isn't that risky?

Yeah no shit. I just can't afford it.

Well, I can just tell on you.

Would you though?

Yeah. I could.

Well, you wouldn't.

...Why?

'Cause I'll owe you a favor. I'll get us coffee sometime maybe.

You have money for coffee but not train tickets?

Priorities.

Of course ...you're odd.

And it's intriguing you, no?

Never. You're a criminal!

And you seem boring.

Am not!

Are too.

You wanna know something?

Sure.

I didn't get a ticket either.

Hello? You said you were 142?

I'm not even sure there are 142 seats in this car.

Why'd you do this?